Together Apart (6 page)

***

When the family below had finished their supper, the father took out his fiddle and began to play—lively music, of a kind I'd never heard before. My foot set itself to tapping the air, and pretty soon my harmonica was in my mouth. I wasn't planning to give it any wind, but I got so caught up in the music that I didn't even notice when the fiddle music stopped.

"Who goes there?" the father called up from under my tree.

I about jumped out of my skin and had to grab a branch to keep my balance. I didn't fall, but my harmonica did. Fell and fell. Catching the downwind in its reeds and making a gaspy, heart-hurting sound. Then, just before it smashed to the ground, the man caught it. I'd already given myself away, so there was nothing left for me to do but climb on down.

Lucky for me, Eliza stepped out of the shadows just then. "So good to see you again, Mr. Tinka," she said, sticking out her hand, which Mr. Tinka didn't shake like I thought he would. He kissed it!

Eliza then introduced me to the family. She rattled off their names, but I only caught one, the oldest girl, Rosa. Her name fit her look. Rosy cheeks, dark eyes. Not as pretty as Hannah—no girl was as pretty as Hannah—but pretty all the same.

I leaned over to Eliza and asked, "Where's Hannah?"

"She's in the stable, unharnessing Persephone. I wanted to help her, but she stubbornly insisted that I come on ahead."

I made tracks, but by the time I got to the stable, Hannah was already forking hay into Persephone's stall. I plucked the lantern from the hook on the stable wall and brought it close to Hannah's face so I could read her look. Her look said, "bushed."

I told her as much and suggested that maybe she should just go on up to bed.

"I don't want to disappoint Eliza," she answered. "She is anxious for me to meet her friends."

So we joined the others around the campfire.

Mr. Tinka came up to me then, his fiddle and bow tucked under his arm. "Play," he said, offering up my harmonica. I was about to tell him I didn't dare when Eliza said, "There's a bit of chill to the air tonight. The townsfolk will have their windows closed, and the sheriff lives way over on the other side of town. Your choice, but I think it's safe."

"After you," I said to Mr. Tinka.

He drew his bow across the strings and began to play. I listened for a bit, to catch the rhythm, then put my harmonica to my mouth and joined in, making up my part as I went along. Before long, Rosa began to dance around the fire. One arm above her head, the other across her waist, fingers clicking in time. Then Mrs. Tinka and the young ones started in dancing, too. Eliza, who'd been swaying along with the music, threw up her hands and said, "Oh, why not," and then joined the others, leaving Hannah the only one not letting the music move her. Eliza tried to fix that. She sashayed over to where Hannah stood and took up one of her hands. Hannah did take a couple of steps forward, did begin move in a way that wasn't quite a dance but wasn't scarecrow-stiff either. The fire's glow lit Hannah's face, and I thought I saw a flicker of the old Hannah in her eyes. But the flicker didn't last. All of a sudden, Hannah jerked away from Eliza and headed, half running, half stumbling, for the house. I bolted after her.

W
HEN
I
SAAC CAUGHT UP TO ME ON THE STAIRS, HIS FACE WAS
the picture of concern. I tried to reassure him that I wasn't troubled, only in need of sleep, like he'd said earlier. This was partly true. It had been a long and troubling day: Mama apologizing to Eliza for the state of her housekeeping, the simpleness of the meal; Papa turning his back when I offered him the three-dollar wage Eliza had so generously given me; Hester and Lila so full of questions; a Sabbath spent telling half-truths so as not to reveal that Isaac and I were working together, living in the same house.

"There's no sin in having a little fun," Isaac said.

"My brothers aren't having any fun, are they?" I was sorry as soon as I said that, sorry for snapping at the one person who understood, the one person who would never snap back. I locked my heart against any but friendlike feelings toward Isaac, took his hand and squeezed it. I turned away from him then and finished climbing the stairs. I was afraid he'd follow, or maybe I hoped he'd follow, but he didn't, and soon the fiddle playing began anew—soft and slow as a kitten's purr.

In my room, I settled on the floor at the base of the window. Rosa, keeping time to the slower tempo, danced in a less frenzied way. Arms raised, head thrown back, she swayed and dipped as if a ribbon caught up in a gentle wind. I couldn't bear to watch, to remember the times I'd moved my own body in a similar way, so I turned my attention to Isaac. Campfire shadows played on his face and lighted his eyes. The lock on my heart fell away, and I felt the same warm feeling I'd felt when we'd held each other during the blizzard, a feeling no decent girl should have when her brothers are dying. Shame was my bed partner that night.

***

When I woke the next morning the Tinkas were gone. I was sorry for this because I'd wanted to apologize for my rude behavior of the night before. Over breakfast, Eliza shared that the Tinkas were travelers, never staying long in one place, in part because their different ways often made them unwelcome, in part because they preferred the freedom of their way of life.

After breakfast, Eliza set off for Main Street, a stack of handbills tucked into her market basket. Isaac headed straightaway for the print shop, where he began to prepare the press for the latest edition of the
Women's Gazette.

I divided my time that morning between the resting room and Eliza's laundry. Monday also being wash day for most farm women, I'd cautioned Eliza not to be disappointed if no one came.

Doing up the wash at Eliza's was no work at all because Eliza had the most modern of washing machines. The boiling water, soap flakes, soiled clothing, and linens went into a footed tub, attached to which was a levered arm I simply cranked a hundred times back and forth. Isaacs socks were a challenge, though. They smelled so bad I had to run them through the wash three times.

After pegging Isaac's wet things to a line in the cellar, I was carrying the laundry basket to the clothesline in the back yard when hoof beats clattered the brick drive. I hurried into and through the resting room, reaching the drive-side door just as old Mr. Zeller was helping his wife, Flossy, down from the wagon. Before he went on about his business, Mr. Zeller gave Flossy a peck on the cheek.

I showed Flossy around the resting room, pointing out the bookshelves, the stack of gazettes, and the indoor necessary, where she excused herself. While she was otherwise occupied, I tapped a warning signal on the door leading to the print shop. Three taps meant there were visitors about, that Isaac shouldn't show his face or work the press. Two taps meant the coast was clear. A single tap meant that Isaac should unlatch the door and let Eliza or myself inside.

When Flossy came out of the indoor necessary, she smiled and said, "Never thought I'd live long enough to use one of those. Sure would come in handy in the winter, wouldn't it?"

"Yes, ma'am, very handy."

"Would it be okay if I helped myself to one of those rocker chairs?"

"Of course. Think of the resting room as your home away from home."

When Flossy was seated, she removed her knitting from the cloth bag she always carried. "Figured I might as well bring my work with me," she said, her needles rat-a-tatting.

"Is there anything else I can do to make your stay more comfortable?" I asked.

"Thank you, but I have everything I need. Now you go on about your chores. I'll not have you fussing over me."

I excused myself and returned to my laundry basket. Eliza joined me just as I'd pegged the last of the wash to the line. She nearly broke into a run when I told her our first visitor had arrived. In the resting room, we found Flossy still in the rocking chair, her chin resting on her chest, fast asleep, though her nap didn't last long.

"Yoo hoo," a woman's voice called.

Eliza and I spun around. A smartly dressed woman stood just inside the door.

"Good day, Mrs. Callahan," Eliza said in a tight voice. "To what do I owe the honor of your visit?"

"I read your handbill down at Fowler's Emporium, and I thought I'd stop by to ask if the ladies of the Betterment Society might be of help. I'd offer to help you myself, but my sister, who lives in one of the finest neighborhoods in Philadelphia, has taken ill, and I'm leaving on the first train out tomorrow."

"That's a very generous offer, but I don't think we'll need any assistance at this time. Hannah here is my partner, and she's done a wonderful job."

Mrs. Callahan looked me up and down, but her eyes didn't stay on me for long. The bustle beneath her skirts bobbing with each step she took, she headed for the bookshelves. When she tilted her head to read the titles, her wide-brimmed, feathered hat nearly toppled. And when her eyes landed on the stack of gazettes, she didn't waste any time snatching one up. "Is there a charge?" she asked, turning to Eliza.

"Ten cents, as is clearly printed in bold type."

"Oh, dear, I'm afraid I left home without my coin purse. I'll just take this with me and send my daughter, Drucilla, over with the price later today."

Just then a thump echoed from behind the print shop door. Mrs. Callahan's eyes swiveled to that direction. Eliza and I traded glances. "You will have to excuse us now. We have much work to do," Eliza said.

With a rustle of skirts, and a humph, Mrs. Callahan went on her way.

When all that remained of Mrs. Callahan was the too-sweet scent of her toilet water, Eliza turned to me and whispered, "She's a meddler and a gossip. If my guess is right, she's on her way to the Reverend Cobb's with my blasphemous gazette this very moment."

I'd set much of the type for the gazette and hadn't seen anything I couldn't have said or thought in a church. No vile words, no threat of evil. New ways for women to think about their lives, maybe, but nothing immoral or scandalous.

Flossy laid her knitting in her lap. "Must be something pretty interesting in that paper. May I buy one?"

"It's free to you," Eliza said. "A gift for being our first visitor."

***

Lunch that day, and all the days after, was eaten in the print shop. So as not to raise suspicion, Eliza and I took turns carrying our plates through the resting room from the kitchen, a spare plate hidden beneath a heaping one. The food was divided in the safety of the print shop. That way, Isaac, whose stomach was like a bottomless well, ate three quarters of the food on my plate and three quarters of Eliza's as well.

The afternoon brought but three more visitors. The first was a Mrs. Randolph who told us she'd arrived from England only the week before. Her daughter, who couldn't have been much more than two, toddled over to Eliza and held up her arms. Eliza picked her up and gently brushed the little girl's hair away from her eyes. "And what might your name be?" Eliza asked.

"Rebecca," the little girl answered. Then, pride glowing in her cheeks, she added, "I rode a train."

"Is that so? Well, how would like to ride a wooden horse?"

Rebecca clapped her hands together and squealed.

"Wait here, then," Eliza said, putting the child down. "I'll go fetch the handsome steed from his corral."

While Eliza was off on her errand, Mrs. Randolph asked me if it might be possible to heat water for "a spot of tea." I told her that I'd see to it right away and headed for the kitchen.

I rekindled the fire in the cookstove before filling the copper teakettle from the hot water spigot at Eliza's sink. While the kettle was filling I happened to look out the window. Isaac's mother, a shawl draped over her shoulders, rode by on the back of a mule. I set the kettle on the stove and then went out to greet her.

"Is he here?" she asked after I'd helped her down from the mule.

"I'll take you to him," I answered. In the stable, I tied the mule's lead to a hitching post, then rapped a signal on the door leading to the print shop. The door opened a crack, and one of Isaac's eyes peeked out. "Ma," he said, flinging the door wide.

"Why don't you and your mother go up to your room, where you can visit without being overheard," I whispered.

"Thank you, Hannah," Isaac's mother said. "You are a dear."

Together they began to climb the stairs. "Does he know you've come to town?" Isaac asked.

"Oh, no," his mother answered. "I was up before dawn, got the wash on the line, made his lunch ahead, and told him some of the church ladies were holding a meeting."

I couldn't help but smile. Isaac's mother was nearly as skilled at telling half-truths as I was. Ladies, church-going ladies most likely, were indeed meeting—in the resting room.

When I passed through the resting room, little Rebecca was merrily rocking on a wooden horse—the very same rocking horse I'd seen in the nursery on the second floor.

By the time I returned to the kitchen, Eliza was emptying the copper teakettle into a gleaming silver one. Arranged on a matching tray was a fancy tea service—cups, sugar bowl and creamer, dainty spoons.

"These things are too fine," I said.

"Nonsense. Fine things are worthless unless they're shared. Harlan's mother taught me that. When she first took me in I ... uh ... off with you now, before the water loses its heat."

I carried the tray and my questions into the resting room, and Mrs. Randolph exclaimed, "I feel like a commoner invited to tea at Queen Victoria's court."

"Everyone is equal here in the resting room," Eliza said from over my shoulder. "This is a place where all women may come to rest and enjoy the company of other women."

Then came another "Yoo hoo" at the door, though from a younger voice than in the morning. I turned, and there was a girl in yellow, from the color of her hair down to the satin of her shoes. Eliza, recognizing her as Mrs. Callahan's daughter, Drucilla, said, "May I help you?" in a polite though guarded voice.

"My mother has asked me to return this," Drucilla said, holding out a crumpled copy of the gazette.