Glimmers of Change

by Ginny Dye

  “The city can’t do anything?” Robert asked.

  “We’re trying. Our woefully unprofessional police force is one of the few things both Republican and Democratic newspapers agree on. The complaints have made it to Nashville. They’re close to passing a bill that would take control of the Memphis police away from the city government and vest it in a board appointed by the governor.”

  “The mayor doesn’t care what is happening with the police force?” Matthew asked.

  “Our mayor is a drunk,” Eaton said sarcastically. “I’ve heard that at one time he was competent, but he seems to live in the bottle now. You very rarely see him when he is not inebriated.”

  Matthew whistled, quickly adding up what he was hearing. “So you’re afraid the Irish police are going to ignite trouble with the blacks, and you don’t believe anyone will be able to stop it.”

  “Yes.” He looked at Moses. “You need to be careful while you are here.”

  “I’m careful everywhere,” Moses said, his eyes flashing with resentment.

  Matthew peered at him, seeing something in Moses’s eyes he hadn’t before. He exchanged a long gaze with Robert, knowing he was seeing the same thing.

  “The trouble goes back to before the war,” Eaton continued. “Before the war started, the Irish had to compete with slaves whose masters hired them out for the same work they did. The Irish made no secret of their resentment, and the blacks repaid it in full. The only thing that kept the violence under control was the power of the masters. It seems they would not tolerate abuse of their slaves by anyone but themselves,” he said with disgust, his eyes flashing his sentiment.

  Matthew could feel Moses begin to relax, but his eyes maintained their intensity.

  “Now that we’re free, they don’t worry about that,” Moses said flatly.

  “True. In addition, the black population has multiplied, which has made it more of a problem to the Irish.” Eaton eyed Moses. “You said back there you were a Union soldier?”

  “I was,” Moses said carefully, his face closing down again.

  Eaton smiled. “You have nothing to worry about from me. Roy and Harry are both soldiers. From the way I saw them looking at you, I figured you had done something to earn their respect. They are careful men.”

  “With reason,” Moses replied evenly.

  “With reason,” Eaton agreed immediately. “The presence of black troops in Memphis has added a particularly volatile fuel to the fire. The Irish are incensed that blacks have any authority over them.”

  “We saw that in Richmond, too,” Matthew said. Moses had experienced it firsthand, but Matthew knew he didn’t want to talk about it. His concern for whatever his friend had in mind was growing.

  Eaton frowned. “I suspect it would be a problem anywhere in the South, but I believe I am objective enough after my travels to say it is the worst I’ve ever seen here in Memphis.” His frown deepened as his gaze swept the crowded street. “I believe there will be a racial explosion very soon. I can feel it in the air.” He turned back to the three men. “You may have picked a very bad time to come to Memphis.”

  As he looked out on the streets, Matthew could sense danger in the air. He suspected any newsman could, but he had developed a sense for it that, unfortunately, was never wrong. As he glanced toward the horizon, the river glistening below, he had the grim realization this trip wasn’t going to be about the sinking of the Sultana. His skin prickled as the sense of foreboding deepened.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Carrie trembled with excitement when their train pulled into New York City. When she left home two weeks earlier, she had never dreamed she would be coming to America’s largest city. The plantation, and her life there, felt a million miles away.

  “Pinch me,” Janie murmured as her head swiveled to catch everything.

  Carrie obliged with a grin.

  “Ouch!” Janie yelped, and then returned her grin. “Can you believe it? New York City! And we have ten whole days before the Women’s Conference convenes on May tenth.”

  Florence frowned. “You’ll like Philadelphia even more once you’ve experienced New York City,” she predicted.

  “You don’t like the city?” Abby asked. “I’ve been here a few times, but my experience is limited.”

  “It’s not my favorite city,” Florence said. “I came here with my parents when I was a child. It seemed wonderful and exciting then. The last twenty years have changed it. The city has done a poor job of responding to its rapid growth from immigrants.”

  Elizabeth eyed Abby. “You were here during the draft riots three years ago, weren’t you?”

  “I was,” Abby agreed, pain filling her eyes.

  “I heard it was terrible,” Alice said sympathetically.

  When Abby only nodded, Carrie knew she wasn’t going to tell the other girls about the terrible ordeal she had suffered. “Didn’t you say Dr. Benson is joining us for dinner tonight?”

  Abby glanced at her with gratitude when she changed the subject. “Yes. Dr. Benson and his lovely wife, Elsie.”

  “Isn’t Dr. Benson on the new Metropolitan Board of Health?” Florence asked with excitement, grinning when Abby nodded. “I was so hoping we would be able to speak with someone who is working to clean up the city. To say it’s beyond time would be putting it mildly.”

  Carrie watched Abby while the other women talked excitedly. Abby had told her the whole story about the draft riot late one night when everyone had gone to bed. The flickering flames of the fire seemed to give her the courage to tell the harrowing tale. Abby and Dr. Benson had stayed in contact since the deaths and destruction of the riot had connected her with their family.

  Abby raised her hand and waved at one of the carriage drivers lined up on the curb. The long line of conveyances ran the gamut from simple to wildly luxurious. The carefully appointed carriage that pulled away from the curb revealed the wealth of the Stratford family. “Paxton!” she called.

  The carriage pulled to a stop in front of them and a ruddy-faced man jumped down from the seat. “Mrs. Livingston!” he said. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

  “And you, as well, Paxton,” Abby said sincerely. “But my last name is no longer Livingston. I married last year. My last name is Cromwell now.”

  “Congratulations,” Paxton said cheerfully. “You look wonderful, so marriage must be agreeing with you.”

  “I’d like you to meet my stepdaughter, Carrie Borden.”

  “It’s a pleasure, Mrs. Borden,” Paxton said formally.

  Abby quickly made the rest of the introductions. Carrie watched Paxton carefully. His smile and manner were impeccably professional, but he wore grief like a cloak. She could tell by the look in Abby’s eyes that she saw the same thing, but she knew Abby wouldn’t question him in front of everyone.

  Paxton loaded the luggage, settled everyone in the carriage, and took his seat. With a raise of his reins, the horse moved forward willingly.

  Carrie appreciated the gleaming shine of the bay’s coat but was equally aware of the poor condition of many of the other horses lined up along the station curb. Dull hair, exposed ribs, and listless eyes spoke of poor care. She scowled with anger when she saw how many whips were being brandished. Already, she was disenchanted with New York City.

  Suddenly she saw one driver stand up in his carriage, raise his whip, and begin to mercilessly lash the poor horse standing trapped by the heavy harness. Carriages in front and behind made it impossible for him to move.

  “Stop!” Carrie cried, anger and pain causing her heart to pound as she saw the miserable fear in the horse’s eyes. She reached up to grab Paxton’s arm. “Paxton, stop right this minute!”

  Paxton shot a look at Abby and then pulled back on the reins. “Ain’t nothing you can do, Mrs. Borden.”

  “You watch me!” Carrie vowed furiously, jumping from the carriage and running across the road, narrowly avoiding being run over by another carriage. She reached the horse that was
being beaten and raised her hands. “Stop right this minute!” she yelled, fury checking the tears that wanted to flow down her cheeks at the horse’s pitiful condition.

  “What’s wrong with you, lady?” the driver growled, raising the whip again.

  Carrie was poised to jump up into the carriage to stop him, when she felt Paxton by her side.

  “Stop it, Lyle,” Paxton ordered. “You done driven that horse to death.”

  Lyle smirked and slashed forward with the whip again.

  Carrie groaned as another lash mark scoured the horse’s side. “I said to stop it!” she cried, searching her mind for a way to stop the man. Suddenly Abby, Janie, Elizabeth, Alice, and Florence were all standing with her, scowling up at the brutal driver.

  The watching carriage drivers began to laugh. The driver’s face reddened with fury as he stared down at the women. “Get out of my way,” he snapped. “This ain’t none of your business.”

  Carrie opened her mouth to reply when a tall man, dressed elegantly in a top hat stepped forward.

  “It is most certainly her business,” the man said grimly. “Not only that, you are breaking the law.”

  “What law?” the driver asked suspiciously. “And who are you?”

  “My name is Henry Bergh. I am the president of the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.”

  “Ain’t never heard of it,” the driver retorted.

  “It’s quite new,” Bergh responded. “It was just created on April tenth of this year. On April nineteenth, an anti-cruelty law was passed. My society has been granted the right to enforce it.” He deliberately raised his voice so the other carriage drivers would hear him.

  “Still ain’t never heard of it,” the driver repeated, but this time he sounded less certain.

  “Your ignorance is no excuse for breaking the law,” Bergh replied firmly. “If you so much as raise that whip again, I will have you arrested.”

  The driver’s face, if possible, got even redder, but he remained still, his eyes casting around for help. The other drivers, now that they had heard mention of the police, turned their attention elsewhere.

  Bergh moved forward to release the horse from the harness cutting into his flesh.

  “What are you doing?” the driver exclaimed.

  “I am freeing this horse from your violent care,” Bergh said grimly.

  “How am I supposed to drive my carriage?” the man asked angrily.

  “That is hardly my problem,” Bergh replied haughtily.

  Carrie moved forward to help him, her hands moving gently over the horse’s body as she pulled the harness away. Fear faded in the horse’s eyes as he realized he was being rescued, but nothing could erase the misery caused by years of obvious abuse. Carrie felt sick, wanting nothing more than to put the horse on a train and send it back to the plantation. Bile rose in her throat as raw, oozing sores emerged from beneath the harness.

  While the driver sputtered and cursed, she and Bergh finished freeing the horse. Bergh stroked its face gently and walked him away from the carriage. The horse moved slowly, his head bowed, relief radiating from his eyes.

  “Where will you take him?” Carrie asked, one hand resting protectively on the horse’s neck while she caressed his side, careful to avoid the lashes and sores. She was certain the horse had experienced no kind human contact.

  “I have secured a stable in Manhattan,” Bergh replied. “I will take him there until I can find a place in the country. This horse will never pull another carriage. I can assure you he will be well cared for.”

  “Thank you,” Carrie said gratefully, tears filling her eyes now that the horse was safe. She glared back over her shoulder. “That man should be shot.”

  “Agreed,” Bergh replied. “Since that option is not legal, I will continue to try to save the animals.”

  Carrie peered up at him, drawn by the kindness etched on his narrow face. “I’ve never heard of your society.”

  “Not a surprise. It is the first in America, designed after England’s Royal Society founded in 1840. We’ve only begun to fight for animals’ rights here in America, but we will continue to fight until things change.”

  Carrie shuddered. “It’s inconceivable to me that someone would treat a horse this way.”

  Bergh eyed her. “You’re experienced with horses.”

  “My family owns a plantation in Virginia. We raise horses.”

  “And what are you doing in New York City?”

  Carrie saw no reason to not be honest. “I’m here with the rest of my friends to attend the Women’s Rights Conference, but also to meet with doctors on the Metropolitan Board of Health.”

  Bergh raised his eyebrows as he looked around. “All of you?”

  Carrie nodded. “With the exception of this wonderful woman who is a very successful business owner,” she smiled as she nodded at Abby, “we are all students at the Women’s Medical College of Philadelphia.”

  Bergh smiled. “It is indeed a pleasure to meet all of you. I will think of you fighting ignorant people for the right to be doctors as I fight ignorant people who believe they can abuse animals.”

  He bowed to all of them and then led the horse slowly down the street.

  Carrie glanced over at the driver, now sitting on a carriage seat that had no horse to pull it.

  “See what you done now?” the driver called, his eyes sparkling dangerously.

  “I do,” Carrie said calmly. “I have saved a wonderful animal from an ignorant man who should never have another one.” She spun on her heel and marched back to the carriage.

  Paxton waited for everyone to get back into the carriage and then climbed back into his seat. “You sure she’s just a stepdaughter?” he murmured to Abby. “She’s just as independent and hard-headed as you are.”

  Laughter rang merrily through the air as the carriage pulled away from the station.

  Abby waited until Paxton had unloaded everyone’s luggage and carried it up onto the porch. The house butler took over, showing Carrie and her friends to their rooms. She had known the Stratfords would not be home when they arrived. Her friend, Nancy, would be returning home within the hour. Nancy hated not to be there for their arrival, but she was involved in final plans for the Women’s Rights Conference.

  When everyone left the porch, Abby turned to Paxton. “Is something wrong?” she asked gently.

  “Excuse me?” Paxton mumbled.

  “I know I don’t have the right to ask, Paxton, yet I can’t help but see the grief in your eyes.”

  Paxton stared at her, his green eyes numb under his reddish thatch of hair. “It’s a bad time to be alive,” he finally said. Then he groaned. “Actually it’s a bad time to be dead.” His eyes flashed with desperate grief.

  “What happened?” Abby asked quietly. She sensed Paxton had no one to share his grief with, and she could tell it was eating him up from the inside.

  Paxton remained silent for so long, Abby doubted he was going to say anything, but finally he let out a heavy sigh. “Have you heard of the Monarch of the Seas?”

  “I’m sorry, no. I’m assuming it is a boat?”

  Paxton nodded, grief turning his eyes into molten emeralds. “My two sisters sailed from Liverpool on March nineteenth. They were coming from Ireland to start a new life.” His voice twisted as he fell silent.

  Abby waited quietly, though she suspected she already knew the ending of the story.

  “It’s gone,” Paxton finally said.

  “Gone?” Abby echoed. “Do you mean it sunk?”

  “Just gone,” Paxton ground out through gritted teeth. “It completely disappeared. Everyone figures it has sunk, but no one is positive. It has simply been given up as lost.”

  Abby gasped, raising her hand to her mouth. “I’m so sorry!”

  Paxton continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “Six hundred ninety-eight people on board. Five hundred nineteen of them from Ireland,” he said grimly.

  Abby reached ou
t a hand and put it on his arm. “Paxton, that’s terrible. I’m so very sorry.”

  Paxton gazed at her. “I went down to the docks every day for a month, hoping the ship would appear with a story about their trip.” His voice faltered. “It’s gone,” he said hopelessly as he shook his head. “All those lives lost. My sisters…”

  Abby remained silent, knowing there was nothing to say to alleviate his suffering. She kept her hand resting on his arm, offering what little comfort she could.

  “It might be for the best,” Paxton finally muttered, his eyes clearing slightly.

  “What do you mean?” Abby asked.

  Paxton stared at her. “Things were real bad when you were here three years ago. It’s worse now.”

  Abby thought back. “You were very concerned about the conditions your family members were living in,” she remembered. She tried to recall the conditions in that part of town, but all she could see when she closed her eyes were the rampaging crowds and the cries of black people as they were beaten and murdered. She managed to control her shudder as she kept her focus on Paxton’s grief.

  “They’re living in conditions not meant for animals,” he growled. “The pigs back home in Ireland lived better than my brothers and their families.” His eyes clouded over again. “I know my sisters were miserable in Ireland, but I couldn’t imagine them in that squalor. I talked to Mrs. Stratford about getting them work. She thought she had a couple of housemaid jobs lined up with some friends, but they won’t be needing them,” he said bitterly.

  He stared down at the ground for several moments and then gazed back up at Abby beseechingly. “Is it wrong of me to be glad they’re gone? Ain’t nobody meant to live the way people are living down in the tenements. I’ve seen too many people that look worse off than if they were dead.”

  Abby tightened her grip on his arm. “You loved your sisters,” she said softly. “You didn’t want them to suffer. I’m sorry things are so bad down there.”