Shifted By The Winds (6 page)

Sunlight was already streaming in through the windows when Carrie finally opened her eyes. She was confused by the feeling of hard wood beneath her until memories of the night before came flooding back. For several minutes she lay quietly, inspecting the room she had been too tired to notice the night before. The room was obviously a study. The walls were lined with elegant built-in shelves that bulged with books. Two rose-colored wingback chairs flanked a fireplace, and a massive desk was positioned so that whoever sat at it could look out the window onto the street. Remembering what Elizabeth had told her, she wondered if the desk used to look out over green pastures and trees. Surely it must be depressing to simply look out at trash and squalor now. Sounds from the street and aching muscles pulled her from her makeshift bed. In spite of what she knew she would see, she stood quietly and moved toward the window.

“It’s gone,” Florence said sadly.

Carrie turned. Florence was still covered by her sheet. The two had shared floor space in the study, sending their three friends off to the beds. “You’ve been up?”

“Yes.” Fatigue made Florence’s voice gruff and her eyes revealed her grief. “There is nothing left.”

Carrie scowled and pushed the curtains aside. There was a perfect view down the street toward Moyamensing Hall. The three-story building had been reduced to charred embers. She could tell other buildings had caught flame, but the fires had been put out before they could destroy anything else. Only the hoped-for cholera hospital had not survived. She wondered how many people had no haven to come to today. She knew it was at least fifty, but she suspected it was far more. Beds had been assembled for 150 patients. Carrie grappled with the mixture of rage and grief that consumed her. “What a waste,” she snapped. “What a total waste.”

“Not to them,” came a quiet voice from the hallway.

Carrie spun around to see Biddy Flannagan framed in the doorway, her tiny, erect frame almost glowing with the sunlight streaming in behind her.

Biddy stepped into the room. “I heard you moving around, so I decided to come up.”

Carrie was once again mesmerized by the soft glow of compassion and life in the old woman’s eyes. “I know they were scared,” she admitted. “I suppose I would have been too.”

“Yes, they were scared,” Biddy agreed, coming to stand beside her and look out at the blackened remains. “It was more than that, though. It’s the residue of centuries of abuse for the Irish here in America,” she murmured. “There is nothing right about what they did, but sometimes you just can’t stop the anger from spewing out.”

Carrie stared at her. “Centuries of abuse?” She searched her brain for what she knew about the Irish. It took her only moments to realize it was next to nothing, other than what Matthew had told her about their part in the riots in Memphis and New Orleans. “I don’t understand.”

“No,” Biddy said easily. “I don’t suspect you would be knowing the truth about my people. It’s been well hidden, it has.” She looked directly into Carrie’s eyes. “It’s not been an easy life for the Irish here.”

“You said centuries.” Florence rose from her bed and came to stand beside them. “I thought Irish immigrants just started coming over in the early part of
this
century.”

Biddy laughed but there was no amusement in her voice. “Oh, they were coming for a right long time before then, lassie, but no one wants to talk much about the Irish slaves.”

Carrie gasped. “Slaves? The
Irish
?” Her brow crinkled. “I’m afraid I have no idea what you are talking about.” Her confusion made her totally forget about the fire.

Biddy nodded. “Come on downstairs. Elizabeth, Janie, and Alice are already up. Faith is making them porridge.” She held up her hand when she saw the questions in Carrie’s eyes. “I’ll answer your questions downstairs. You need to eat something.”

Carrie’s stomach rumbled loudly in response. Biddy and Florence laughed as they linked arms and walked down the stairs. Carrie tried to guess her host’s age, but the lively spirit and nimble body conflicted with the wrinkled face.

Carrie managed to hold her questions in while she ate two steaming bowls of porridge and two thick slices of hearty Irish brown bread slathered with butter. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until she started eating. Only when her stomach was full did she reach for the pot of steaming tea sending out its heady aroma.

“Elizabeth told me you girls have had nothing to eat since lunch yesterday,” Biddy said.

Carrie thought back to the day before and realized she was right. “I guess that’s why I was so hungry.”

Janie chuckled. “I’m glad I ate before you came downstairs. The rest of us might not have gotten anything.”

Carrie laughed, and then turned eagerly to Biddy. “Please explain what you were talking about upstairs.”

Biddy eyed her for a long moment and then nodded. “I’m thinking there must be a right good reason you girls got dumped into my house last night.” She beckoned to Faith. “This story cannot be told without you, my friend. Come join us.”

Faith, a slender black woman who seemed to be a few decades younger than Biddy, slipped into the remaining chair at the table.

Carrie studied her. She had assumed Faith was Biddy’s housekeeper, but now she realized the two women were friends. She looked up to see Biddy watching her with knowing eyes.

“Faith Jacobs has been my housemate for over thirty years,” Biddy said. “My housemate, and my best friend.”

Carrie smiled. “Rose Samuels is my best friend. She began life as a slave on my father’s plantation.”

“Until Carrie helped Rose and Moses escape,” Janie added.

“Moses?” Biddy asked, her eyes wide with surprise.

“Rose’s husband,” Carrie answered. “They left the plantation on the Underground Railroad the year the war started. I didn’t see her again until the war ended.”

“Where is she now?” Biddy asked, keen interest shining in her eyes.

“They are living on our plantation with my husband, Robert. Rose is a schoolteacher. Moses has become the co-owner of the plantation with my father.” Carrie decided not to go into the fact that Rose was actually her father’s half-sister. She knew Biddy had more questions — they were burning in her eyes — but Carrie was too eager to learn more about Biddy’s surprise statement. “Please, Biddy, help me understand what you were talking about earlier. What did you mean about the Irish being slaves?”

“Just what I said,” Biddy answered, exchanging a long look with Faith. “Faith and I share that heritage in common.”

Elizabeth gasped. “Slavery? My mother has always told me you had an extraordinary story, but she never told me any more than that.”

Biddy nodded. “Most folks don’t like to talk about it. It’s as if they are thinking if they don’t talk about it, it will mean it never happened. Pure poppycock it is!” She settled back in her chair and looked around at the women surrounding her. “I sent Ardan to talk to the doctors who came down this morning to inspect what was to be the hospital. I didn’t want anyone to worry about you women. They sent back word to rest here until you are recovered.”

Carrie murmured her appreciation with the others but kept her eyes fastened on Biddy. The cholera hospital had faded away into almost insignificance in her mind. She didn’t really understand her burning compulsion to know Biddy’s story, but she somehow knew it was vitally important.

Biddy met Carrie’s eyes squarely as she began to speak. “People like to think blacks were the first slaves in America, but that isn’t true. Long before the first blacks were brought here, England was sending over white people to create the labor force this country needed.”

“
White
people?” Alice gasped, her blue eyes growing wide. “From where?”

“It began in England,” Biddy answered. “Things weren’t going so well in the mother country. Famine and war had filled the streets with beggars, vagabonds, and criminals. They decided that transportation was the way to handle it,” she said wryly.

“Transportation?” Carrie echoed, wanting desperately to understand.

“That was their word for banishing the undesirable people from England,” Biddy said bluntly. “Of course, that wasn’t until they had sent the children over.”

“Children?” Florence was the one to echo her this time.

“Children,” Biddy confirmed. “It seems adults were having a very difficult time adjusting to southern heat. Too many of the first colonists were dying from heat, disease, and starvation in the tobacco fields. They decided children would be more likely to survive the demands of the labor, so they began shipping them over, starting with a group of one hundred.”

“But where did they get them?” Carrie demanded. “How old were they?”

“They ranged in age from eight to sixteen,” Biddy answered. Her face tightened. “They took them from the streets of London in the beginning.”

“They kidnapped them?” Florence asked, the horror evident in her voice.

“That they did,” Biddy answered grimly. “But that was just the beginning.”

Carrie struggled to make sense of what she was hearing. “Don’t you mean they were brought over as indentured servants?”

“That’s what you were taught?” Biddy asked.

Carrie struggled to remember where she had heard about indentured servants. “I can’t honestly say I was taught anything.” She thought back to when she had first heard that term. “I remember my father talking about indentured servants helping to build our plantation. He never spoke much about it.”

Biddy’s face tightened with a quick anger but relaxed just as quickly, compassion returning to her eyes, along with a mixture of pity and sympathy. “How long has your family been here, Carrie?”

Carrie was silent for a long moment as she thought back. “My great-great-grandfather came over in the 1700s,” she said finally.

Biddy nodded. “Then they probably owned some of my people.”

Carrie shook her head. “My family never owned white people.”

“Just black folks?” Faith asked gently.

“Yes,” Carrie acknowledged, unsure why her insides were churning so much. She also felt very much on display. Janie had grown up in the South, but her family never owned slaves. The rest of her housemates came from families who had heartily endorsed abolition for the slaves. Even though all her father’s slaves had been set free before the war, she knew her family had stolen the lives of so many before that.

Biddy read the expression on her face. “Your family may have the most recent history of owning slaves, Carrie, but I can guarantee you that any of your families that have been here since the 1600s or 1700s have owned slaves.” Her eyes touched all of their faces.

“That’s not true!” Elizabeth cried. “My family has been here since the mid-1600s. We have never owned a slave.”

Biddy smiled, but her voice was firm when she replied. “Did your mama ever tell you about the indentured servants your relatives used to build their life?”

Elizabeth frowned. “Mother has never said anything. It was my grandmother who told me about the people who came over from Europe looking for a new life. They didn’t have money to come, so they agreed to work for a certain number of years to pay their transportation fare, and then they were given land or money to start over here in America. She told me they were very grateful.”

“I suppose that’s how it happened for a few,” Biddy answered as she reached out to grasp Elizabeth’s hand. “Your mama won’t talk about it because she knows the truth.”

“The
truth
?” Elizabeth had an almost frantic look on her face.

Carrie felt a surge of sympathy for her friend. “Please explain, Biddy.”

Biddy took a deep breath. “I could give you quite a history lesson, but I would prefer to just tell you my own story.” She locked eyes with Faith.

“That’s the best way,” Faith agreed. “History is nothing more than a collection of people’s stories. It’s best told that way.”

Biddy nodded and then got a faraway look on her face. “My family started here when my great-great-great-grandmother, Aileen, was kidnapped off the streets of Dublin in 1653. She was twelve years old.”

Carrie gasped and covered her mouth. “Twelve? Where were her parents?”

Biddy smiled sadly. “They were taken, as well. They weren’t sent to America, however. They were sent to the sugar plantations in Barbados.”

“The West Indies?” Janie asked.

“Yes. Sugar was quite a commodity and the plantations required a lot of labor. Many of the Irish were sent to the West Indies, but the American colony was growing. Most came to America to work on the tobacco plantations, though in the north they were mostly used for industrial labor.” Biddy shook her head. “My great-great-great-great-grandparents were never heard from again. Aileen was put to work in the tobacco fields. Somehow she managed to survive.”

“Meaning most of them didn’t?” Alice asked.

Biddy nodded sadly. “Eight out of ten children never made it to adulthood. The work was too hard.” She gazed at Carrie. “Does your family own a tobacco plantation?”

“Yes,” Carrie whispered. She wanted to close her ears and not learn more, but something was demanding she know. “Please, continue.”