Signed a paddy, p.16
Signed, a Paddy, page 16
“No!” a man yelled across the church.
“Yes,” she went on. “We have heard this before, though, haven’t we?”
A few chuckles came from the crowd.
“Secede, they threaten! And what does the North do? What do our own elected politicians do? They appease. Not this time, I say!”
“Nay!” shouted Mr. Collins.
“I say we let them know that slavery does not spread one more inch! Secede if they must. We will not stand for this vile institution to grow. Not in our country!”
“Nay!” yelled another man.
“Not one more inch!” cried one more.
“In fact,” she added, her voice rising, “let us assure them that slavery is not safe anywhere! Not in New Mexico, and not in Virginia!”
A man in the front row stood up and started clapping. Another followed, and soon the whole church was in a thunderous applause.
The speaker smiled for the first time and stepped down from the pulpit.
“Wow!” Miss Martha shouted over the applause. “She sure does make me want to fight some Southerners. Bop a slaveholder right on the nose! Who do they think they are? Truly?”
Mr. Collins laughed again.
“Didn’t you hear what she said about wisdom and honor?” he asked her.
“I think whupping some slaveholders would be both wise and honorable,” she replied.
Their daughter and I laughed. The clapping died down and some people began to make their way out of the church.
“Mother can be quite outspoken,” the daughter said.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know your name,” I said to the girl.
“I’m Ruth,” she said.
“It’s very nice to meet you, Ruth.”
“If you like this kind of stuff,” Ruth said, “you should come to a meeting of the Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society. They have them every Friday. You could come with us. They meet right here.”
“I’ll have to ask my boss at the inn,” I said. “What time is it at?”
“In the early evening,” she said. “Before suppertime.”
“I think I’ll be able to do that,” I said.
“Great! Mother,” she said, tapping her mother’s shoulder. Miss Martha was talking to an older man and put up her hand to tell Ruth to wait.
“I’ll tell her when she’s finished speaking,” Ruth said. “We can meet you at the inn. We’ll take our carriage.”
“I’ll be looking forward to it,” I said. “I should probably get back now. Please tell your ma thank you for her hospitality,”
“I will,” Ruth said. “We’ll see you on Friday!” She smiled big and waved to me as I left the church.
When I walked out onto the street, I saw Marie and Zeke walking Lydia home. Zeke was on one side, arm hooked with Lydia’s. Marie was on the other, with one hand on Lydia’s back and the other holding Lydia’s hand. Lydia leaned to one side and then the other as she walked.
Two days later, on Christmas Eve, Lydia gave birth to a healthy baby girl. They named her Angel.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Just as Miss Susan had said, we did have guests on Christmas Eve who were alone, looking for warmth, comfort, and good food.
The fire was indeed warm, and Miss Susan had hung holly and mistletoe inside, as well.
“You mind yourself around that mistletoe,” Miss Susan said while we cleaned on the morning of Christmas Eve. “Who knows who will try to kiss you if they catch you there?”
“Henry did say he was coming,” I said, smiling coyly.
“Make sure those guests are taken care of first before you two do any funny stuff,” she said.
I laughed. “I’m not doing any funny stuff, Miss Susan.”
“It might not be up to you,” she said. “It’s bad luck to refuse a kiss under the mistletoe. That’s why you have to mind yourself.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said. “But I don’t believe in bad luck, so Henry will just have to find out if I want to be kissed or not.”
She gave me a concerned look—a real one this time.
“You don’t believe in bad luck?” she asked.
“I believe that what’s going to happen is going to happen,” I said. “Sometimes it’s bad and sometimes it’s good. Me refusing to kiss some boy won’t change it.”
“Hm,” she said. “I guess that’s rather brave of you.”
“Brave?” I asked.
“Yes, brave,” she said. “To tempt God in that way.”
I laughed. “What has God got to do with it?”
“Oh, Rosaleen,” she said. “Just stay away from that mistletoe! It’s not for you, anyhow.”
I raised my eyebrows and stopped sweeping. “Is it for you?” I asked.
She rolled her eyes and walked into the kitchen without answering.
Well, that’s mysterious, I thought. I told myself to watch out for any man friends of Miss Susan’s, hanging around the mistletoe.
Marie made a delicious feast for dinner, with roasted turkey, roasted pig, and boiled ham. The lonely guests seemed pleased by it.
As Marie and I cleaned the dishes, I told her about Miss Susan and the mistletoe. She was also intrigued.
“Did a man show up?” she asked me.
“No,” I said. “Luckily, Florence came in just as dinner was ending. Hopefully that cheers her up.”
Marie nodded. “I can’t believe Lydia finally brought my baby niece into this world,” she said. “I’m going to go meet her when we’re done. I know I won’t be much help since I have to be back here for supper, but I just have to meet her.” She smiled dreamily.
“Give her a kiss from me, too, won’t you?” I asked.
Marie nodded. “Of course,” she said. “Is Henry coming for tea?”
“He might,” I said. “Or he might come tomorrow. Or not at all.”
“Can I ask what’s going on with you two?” she asked.
“You can,” I said. “I just don’t know. Nothing, I think. But then I see him and he’s so handsome and kind and then I think I do like him.”
Marie nodded. “I understand.”
“I’ll finish these dishes,” I said. “Go see baby Angel.”
“Oh, thank you!” Marie said, and quickly dried her hands.
When I was done, I helped Miss Susan show the guests to their rooms and began to clean the dining room. I was in my own head, wondering again about Emmett and his Christmas, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. My heart started beating faster. When I turned around, I was surprised to see Miss Martha and Ruth standing behind me. Ruth was grinning and holding a basket with a bow on it.
“We brought these for baby Angel!” Ruth exclaimed. “There are lots of nappies and some wool wax and a little bonnet that I sewed,” she added, just about ready to burst from excitement. “I just love new babies.”
Miss Martha sighed loudly. “Probably because you haven’t been around them enough. They might be cute, but they are a lot of work. Some more than others,” she said.
“Mother likes to remind me what a difficult baby I was. But I really have grown into a lovely young woman, so it could always be worse for her,” Ruth said, winking.
“Is Marie here?” Miss Martha asked, ignoring her daughter’s joke.
“No,” I said. “She’s there now, visiting the baby. But she’ll be back for supper.”
“It’s a little too soon for us to visit Lydia, so we thought we would bring it here,” Miss Martha said. “Will you make sure she gets it?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said.
“Excellent,” Miss Martha said. “We are very excited for you to join us on Friday.”
“I am excited as well,” I said. “Miss Susan says I can attend.”
“Well then,” Miss Martha said, “we will see you on Friday.” She gave me a warm smile. Ruth waved to me on their way out.
__________
Christmas Day was slow and relaxed at the inn, and Miss Susan gave us time for an afternoon coffee. Marie sprinkled cinnamon and nutmeg in mine.
“A little holiday treat,” she said.
“Tell me about the baby,” I said.
“She’s perfect,” Marie said. “The smoothest, plumpest baby cheeks. The sweetest little baby coos. And she seems to like to eat and sleep, so that’s good.”
“An easy one, then?” I asked. “Miss Martha said Ruth was not easy.”
Marie laughed. “Honest as always. I have heard that colicky babies can be trying. So far, Angel truly is an angel, but babies do like to change their minds.”
“This coffee is delightful, Marie,” I said.
“I’m glad you like it,” she said. “Maybe I’ll make one for Henry tonight.”
“I don’t know if he’s coming,” I said. I tried not to sound sad. I didn’t know if I was actually disappointed or not.
“Of course he is,” she said. “I know it’s hard for you to see, but he really is starry-eyed for you.”
I felt my face get pink and decided to change the subject.
“I really liked that speaker the other night,” I said. “I’ve been thinking about some of what she said. Why can’t women vote? I would sure like people to know what I think about all of this.”
“I think it’s because they’re scared,” Marie said. “The white men. They’re scared that women might feel sympathetic toward us Black people. Toward you all—the Irish. Toward all fellow humans. They’re afraid that women might try to take some of the power and control from them. And more than that, they’re scared women might give it to other people, too.”
I nodded. “Being afraid can make a person do terrible things,” I said. “And they’re right. If someone gave me power, I would share it with you. But it isn’t like we want it so that we can punish them. We love men. Well, some of them. Don’t they know that?”
Marie shrugged. “We also don’t love a lot of them—isn’t that right?” she asked. “Think about how upset you were with Oliver. Those types of men are in positions of power everywhere. If you could take revenge on him, might you?”
I thought about that. She had a point.
“What if all women came together and demanded a vote?” I asked. “Irish women. White women. Black women. There are plenty of us.”
“That’s what some women are trying to do,” Marie said. “But it’s hard. Women are scared, too. Scared of failing. Scared of each other, even.”
She shifted in her seat.
“Let me tell you a story,” she said. “It’s a story my father used to tell me. It’s about the bears. You have to use your imagination, all right?”
I nodded.
“One day, up in Canada, the bears realized something. They liked to fish in this stream. The fish were plentiful there. The bears also saw wolves taking fish to eat. And it made them angry. Even though the bears had their fill, they thought about how many more fish they could eat if they were the only ones eating the fish. They liked to eat a lot before hibernating. But how could they stop the wolves? There were many more wolves than bears. They couldn’t kill them all. They noticed that the wolves liked to work together. So they started to whisper to each wolf that the other was taking more than their fair share. Or that the others were cheating them and lying to them and hiding fish from them. Soon, the wolves didn’t help each other at all. Instead, they fought with each other. The wolves started to go hungry, but the bears grew fat.”
She took a sip of coffee.
“Men behave like those bears sometimes,” she said. “All people get greedy. But it’s easy to become the wolves, too. To think that our fellow people are the ones to blame for our troubles. It’s hard to recognize the bears for bears. They are tricky and sly.”
“So...the women,” I said, putting the story together, “they’re like the wolves. Being convinced that they are enemies with one another.”
She nodded. “The men, too,” she said. “The Irishmen and the Black men. And even the poor white men. They aren’t the bears. Maybe they could be, if they had the power and they let the greed overtake them. We could all become the bears if we don’t remember to care for one another.”
“How do we convince the women that the bears are wrong?” I asked.
She shrugged. “That’s the trick, isn’t it?” She took my empty mug. “Time to make supper,” she said. “And if I’m right about Henry, he should be walking through those doors any minute now.”
I stood up and smoothed my dress and my hair. The wheels in my head were turning, but I had to stop them for a bit. Henry was coming, and it was Christmas. I wanted to be happy for the evening.
“How do I look?” I asked her.
“Beautiful, as always,” she said, smiling.
Marie walked back into the kitchen, and I took a deep breath. I tried to busy myself with cleaning, but the day had been so slow we had swept and wiped practically every piece of dirt and dust away. I decided to sit near the window and watch for Henry.
It was a cold day and people wore hats and mittens. I could see their breath in the light from the streetlamps. Across the way, I spotted Henry approaching the inn. He had dressed up in a top hat and a long, beautifully tailored jacket and bow tie. He paused, staring at the inn. He carried a bouquet of big, bright-red flowers. With his other hand, he adjusted his bow tie and looked down at his jacket. He straightened that, too, before taking a deep breath and crossing the street.
I opened the door for him, surprising him.
“Good evening, good sir,” I said, smiling. “Happy Christmas.”
A smile spread across his face.
“Happy Christmas, fine lady,” he said, tipping his hat.
“Please, come get warm.”
He hung his jacket and hat on the rack, and we walked to the fireplace.
“These are for you,” he said, handing me the red flowers.
“They are beautiful,” I said. “Thank you. What are they called?”
“Poinsettias,” he said. “My father says they are a Christmas flower. His business associate brought some up from a trip to Pennsylvania.”
“Thank you very much,” I said.
“I love the way the inn is dressed up,” he said, looking around. “The holly and the mistletoe.”
“I was warned to stay away from the mistletoe,” I said. “So don’t get any ideas.”
Henry’s face got very red.
“I’m just having a good time,” I said, quickly. “I’m not serious.”
“Oh,” he said, quietly, looking very disappointed.
I was so embarrassed. Sometimes I wondered how words could just fly out of my mouth without ever passing through my brain for inspection. We were both quiet.
“You look very nice,” I finally said.
“Thank you,” he said. “As do you. Like always.”
Then things were quiet again. I wanted to make it right, but I didn’t know how. I wanted to tell him that I did want to kiss him—because I did. But I also knew in my heart, without fully acknowledging it, that I would leave and go to Emmett. Maybe not tomorrow, but eventually. And so I couldn’t tell him that I wanted to kiss him, even though I did. My heart ached at the realization, and I tried to force a smile.
“So was Christmas at your house magical?” I asked him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
On Friday, after the dinner dishes had been washed, I readied myself for the meeting. I combed my hair and pinned it up very neat. Marie even heated up a flat iron for me to smooth my dress. I washed my face and pinched my cheeks to make them pink.
“Do I look like I can be seen in public with the Collinses?” I asked Marie.
Marie was reading a newspaper and sitting on a rocking chair in her room. After Christmas, it had gotten even quieter and slower at the inn. Marie said business would pick up again in a few days. Now, she smiled. “You know they aren’t highfalutin like that.”
“You’re right,” I said. “They’re very kind. But somehow I still feel so poor around them.”
She nodded. “But they’re generous with their money, too.”
She turned the page and furrowed her eyebrows at whatever she was reading.
“They should be here soon,” I said. “I guess I should wait outside.”
“I would,” she said. “You don’t want to make them late.”
“Marie?” I asked, just realizing something “Why don’t you go to the meetings?”
“You’ll see,” she said, just barely hiding a smile.
“Are you not allowed?” I asked.
“Oh, I’m allowed,” she said.
“Then what is it?” I asked again. “Please tell me.”
“It’s a great place to meet other people who are sympathetic to our cause and pushing for change,” she said. “Especially rich people.”
She put her newspaper down on her desk and sat forward in her chair.
“But it is boring,” she went on. “I used to go frequently. But now, I would rather be working. I still go a few times a year. To important meetings. And the Collins family keeps me informed. But it’s mostly white people there, talkin’ about money. How much of it they have. How to get more. I don’t have too much to offer in that regard. Sometimes they bring in Black folks to talk about the evils of slavery. Escaped slaves, usually. Parade them around like some sad circus act. I don’t have much to offer in that regard, either.”
“Oh,” I said, a little deflated.
“But,” she said, “the people who go to those meetings, they make important decisions and they know important people. So if you want to help the abolitionists, it’s important to go. At least once or twice.”
“I do want to help,” I said.
She sat back in her chair and picked up her newspaper again.
