All Waiting Is Long

by Barbara J. Taylor

  Violet glanced at her family, old and new, suddenly filled with gratitude for such bounty.

  “This is the day that the Lord hath made!” Reverend Sheets shouted from the pulpit, immediately putting Violet in mind of the long-forgotten morning routine at the Good Shepherd. She didn’t dare look across at Lily in the Sherman pew, but Violet knew they were both recalling Sister Immaculata’s booming voice. So much had changed in the five years since, and all of it because of a single choice. Violet glanced at Daisy on Tommy’s lap. A very good choice, she thought.

  Violet held onto this thought through the hymns, prayers, and Communion. When it finally came time for the sermon, she tensed, worried Reverend Sheets would offer a veiled message about forgiving her trespasses, but when he started in on Noah’s Ark, she knew the worst was behind her.

  At the end of the service, several of the women came over to Violet to offer their good wishes on her marriage and to welcome her back into the church, and for the most part they seemed sincere.

  “You’ll never guess what just happened to me.” Lily pushed through the little group, speaking to Violet and Grace directly.

  Tommy cut in. “Don’t you think you should ask your sister how she made out first?”

  “Just look at her,” Lily said. “She made out fine—as I expected. We’re talking about Violet, after all.”

  “She’s just excited.” Violet hugged Tommy’s arm lightly. “Do me a favor, will you? Help Father to the car.”

  “I don’t need help,” Owen said, pushing the blanket off his lap as he attempted to stand.

  “Well, I could sure use some fresh air,” Tommy said. “How about we start out and let the girls have their talk.” He pulled Owen gently up from the seat and offered him his arm for support.

  “Me too?” Daisy pulled at Tommy’s sleeve.

  “Especially you.”

  “Thank you.” Violet was relieved to see Tommy’s anger mollified.

  “I’m just outside if you need me,” Tommy said as he walked Owen up the aisle with Daisy on his heels.

  “What was that all about?” Lily finally asked when Tommy was out of earshot.

  “Tell us your news.” Violet faced her sister, but watched her husband until he vanished out the door.

  “Abigail Silkman herself invited me as she was walking out of church.”

  “Invited you where?” Grace lit up. Every move the Silkman girls made was reported in the society pages of the Scranton Times and, if Myrtle Evans could be trusted, even the New York Times on occasion.

  “To a luncheon next week at the Omar Room in the Jermyn Hotel. According to Abigail, if all goes well, I should expect an invitation to join the Christian Ladies’ Society!” She leaned into the pew and hugged her mother. “Can you imagine?” Turning to Violet, she said, “Aren’t you thrilled?”

  “I’m very happy for you,” Violet responded, though her mind was elsewhere. What if Tommy never lets go of his resentment toward Lily?

  “That’s wonderful news.” Louise leaned forward and took Lily’s hand into both of hers. “It’s what you’ve always wanted.”

  “Isn’t that the truth,” Lily said. “Violet, you have to go to town with me tomorrow. I don’t have a thing to wear and I need your honest opinion.”

  “What about George?” Louise said when Violet didn’t answer. “Won’t he want to take you?”

  “He’s too busy with the mine. He’s down there now, dealing with some sort of rumor about a strike tomorrow. Anyway, I want my sister with me for something so important.”

  “Of course she’ll go,” Grace said. “I’ll mind Daisy. The house is already too quiet without that child.” She laughed and hugged Lily again.

  “Not before noon,” Violet finally answered. “There’s wash to be done.

  “Nonsense,” Louise said. “I can tend to that.”

  Violet persisted: “And I still have to finish unpacking.”

  “I knew I could count on you,” Lily said. “I can always count on you.”

  Chapter twenty

  “WHY’D YOU LET ME FALL ASLEEP?” Stanley stood alongside the bed, pulling on his undershorts, eyeing the floor for his pants.

  “You don’t pay me to be your keeper.” Ruby Hart, naked as a robin, sat up, rummaged through the twist of sheets, and produced a pair of brown tweed trousers. “My finder’s fee.” She laughed and grabbed a few Lucky Strikes from a pack in Stanley’s front pocket. “For later,” she said, placing two cigarettes on the dresser while she held onto the third.

  Stanley paused to take her in—the generous bosom, that fire-red hair, her emerald eyes. Almost beautiful, he thought, but for how long? Catherine Blair treated her girls right, but “right” for Ruby’s line of work was still hard living and bound to catch up. He leaned forward, kissed the top of her head, and snatched his pants.

  With the cigarette in her mouth, she pointed her chin up to Stanley.

  “I’m late,” he said, striking a match and holding it against the tip of the cigarette till it caught. Shafts of morning light pressed through the chicken-wired window, painting crosses on the opposite wall.

  “How late can it be?” Ruby closed her eyes, took a long drag, and exhaled slowly. “We only slept an hour or two.” She picked Stanley’s shirt off the iron bedpost and handed it to him. “I still can’t believe Catherine let you in here after hours.”

  “I’m a good customer.” He smiled.

  “Don’t I know it.” Ruby watched as Stanley poked his handless arm into the left sleeve before slipping his good one into the right. “I’m a lucky girl. Got to spend time with my favorite gentleman caller twice in as many days.” She leaned back, cupped one of her breasts, and slapped it up a few times. “Of course, three’s my lucky number.” When Stanley didn’t respond, Ruby pinched out her cigarette and raised her arms in a V. “See anything you like?” She reached behind, grabbed hold of the headboard, and banged it against the wall.

  “For crying out loud,” a voice yelled from the next room, “it’s six o’clock in the morning!”

  “Sorry, Susie.” Ruby laughed into a pillow then quietly asked Stanley, “So what do you say?” She flung her bare legs straight into the air. “Ruby needs a new pair of shoes,” she said, swinging a foot toward him and tracing his lips.

  He stared at the patch of red hair between her legs and sucked on her big toe. “You’re trouble.” He let go of her foot with a pained sigh. “Not now,” he said, more to himself than Ruby. “Not today.”

  “Where you off to in such a hurry, anyways? You have a sweetheart here in town? A fella like you must have a sweetheart.” She let both legs drop over the side of the bed as she sat up.

  “The Sherman Mine.” He finished buttoning his shirt one-handed, tucked it into his pants, and buckled his belt. “The UAM called for a strike. If it goes off, they’ll probably be charged with contempt of court, since a judge ordered them to rescind the strike order. That’s where I come in.”

  “The strike’ll still be there in half an hour.” She held him in place with her eyes while she unhooked his belt, undid the top button of his trousers, and slid her hand inside.

  “I have a duty.” His murmured words lost their conviction as soon as they hit the air. Stanley closed his eyes and shuddered.

  Ruby unzipped his pants and let them fall to the floor. “That’s not all you have.” She laughed as she pulled him back into bed.

  * * *

  Tommy felt the slap of frosty air as soon as he stepped off the porch. So much for Indian summer. It couldn’t last forever, but this was unseasonably chilly, even for October. Granted, the black bristles on the caterpillars outnumbered the brown ones this year. A harsh winter was in store. He just wished it wouldn’t come too soon. Then again, maybe this cold snap would keep the strikers at home. That would be something, at least.

  There were no lights on inside the Morgan house as Tommy walked by. That meant Owen was too weak to get out of bed. It was only a matter of time, but Tommy d
idn’t like to think about it. Owen had been a father to him after his own father died in the mining accident, and he couldn’t imagine having to say goodbye all over again. At least the Shermans had been good to the Morgans. Say what you will about George Jr., at least he took care of his own.

  At the bottom of Spring Street, Tommy met up with a half-dozen of the more sensible men on his shift. “Strength in numbers,” one of them had said the previous week when they’d heard the scuttlebutt about a wildcat strike. Tommy agreed. He had no intention of joining the strike, yet crossing a picket line didn’t sit well with him either. He’d been a union man as far back as he could remember, and that meant something, but now was not the time to demand a five-day workweek and ten-hour days. There were plenty of men on the dole who’d jump at the chance to work twelve-hour shifts, six days a week. How those fools from the UAM couldn’t see this was beyond him. And why split off from the United Mine Workers in the first place? It just didn’t make sense to pit one union against another. Scabs and owners would be the only ones to benefit.

  When the men reached Providence Square, they turned down Market Street and crossed the bridge. Twenty feet below, the Lackawanna River rushed angrily by as if to spite the coal sludge intent on choking it. “Looks like a lot of fuss for nothing,” Tommy said, pointing through a patch of needleless evergreens, their branches covered in soot.

  He squinted toward the colliery. “I can make out three, maybe four strikers near the road.”

  Relieved at such a poor showing, Tommy continued down the hill and over to the main entrance. In the distance, a couple of mule boys loitered near the above-ground stable, and nine or ten men stood near the cage, ready to be lowered into the mine when the hoistman gave the signal. As close to an ordinary workday as they had a right to expect, Tommy thought.

  “They’re yella,” one of the miners from Tommy’s group said as soon as they stepped onto Sherman property without incident.

  Tommy hoped to God he was right.

  * * *

  “Hel-lo?” Lily sang out as she knocked on the front door and walked into the parlor carrying a small box tied with string. “Anybody home?”

  “You’re half an hour early,” Violet called from the second floor. “I’m in Daisy’s room.”

  “Perfect,” Lily said, taking off her coat and looking around the Davies’s parlor. “Feels strange calling on you here.” She climbed the stairs and found Violet in a small room with a slanted ceiling at the end of the hall. “Where’s Daisy?”

  “Next door,” Violet said, mating the child’s clean anklets and folding them into balls. “I thought I told you noon.”

  “How come she’s there so early?”

  “Slept over last night. I think she misses her old bed.”

  “I bought her something,” Lily said, holding out the package.

  “Not again.” Violet took the gift and set it on the dresser. “I don’t like you spoiling her.”

  “What’s an aunt for?” She paused in thought, then waved her hand. “Besides, it’s nothing. A little pearl-toned mirror from Woolworth’s with a matching comb and brush.” Lily sat down on the bed. “Where’s Mrs. Davies?” She smiled. “Or should I say, the other Mrs. Davies?”

  “Over with Mother and Daisy.”

  “Then you have no excuse.” Lily hopped up and took her sister’s arm. “Off we go.”

  “Settle yourself,” Violet said as she pulled free and put the socks in a drawer. “I still have a sink full of dishes to do.”

  “Can’t that wait?” Lily followed Violet out of the room and back downstairs. “They’ll be out of dresses by the time we get to town. The pretty ones, anyway.”

  “Where’s the fire?” Violet asked as she walked into the kitchen.

  “George telephoned. He left some papers at home and asked me to drop them off. He was very adamant.”

  “So do it now and come back,” Violet said.

  Lily shrugged. “Not without you.”

  “Is something going on between you and George?” Violet looked at her sister. “Is he treating you right?”

  “You know I hate doing anything alone.” Lily leaned forward. “Speaking of husbands, how’s married life? Do you love him madly?”

  “How could I not?” Violet started filling the sink and turned around. “But you’d tell me if something was wrong, wouldn’t you?”

  “My life is perfect,” Lily said. “Or it will be as soon as I give George a baby.”

  “These things take time.”

  “Not when you don’t want them to.” Lily sighed and waved her hand. “Don’t mind me. I’m not sleeping well lately.” She stood up and walked into the parlor. “It’s just . . .” she stared out the window facing her parents’ house, “when I look at you and Daisy together, I want that too.”

  Violet stood motionless. “You’re a healthy girl,” she finally said. “You’ll have your own babies soon enough.”

  “You’re right, of course.” Lily’s face brightened. She walked back into the kitchen and put on her coat. “In the meantime, I think I’ll go next door and spend some time with Daisy. Come get me when you’re ready.”

  “No.” Violet pulled her hands out of the half-full dishpan and dried them on a towel. “I’m ready now,” she said, grabbing her coat. “Let’s go find you the prettiest dress in Scranton.”

  * * *

  By eleven thirty, there were close to a hundred men picketing outside the colliery, according to Buddy Parker, Eddie Parker’s youngest. The boy had spotted the mob on his way to the mine to drop off his father’s dinner pail.

  “I never thought that many men would show up,” Tommy said, lifting Buddy out of the wooden cage that had delivered him to the shaft four stories below ground. “A hundred,” Tommy marveled, still holding onto the boy till his eyes adjusted to the little bit of light thrown by the miners’ headlamps.

  “Thereabouts,” Buddy speculated as Tommy handed him over to his father. No one doubted the boy’s figure. Eddie always said the kid had a gift for sums.

  “How’d you get past them?” Eddie asked, taking the pail and setting it on the dank ground near one of the timbers bracing the narrow tunnel.

  “Slid down the bank on my bum.” Buddy turned around and showed the smears of dirt across the seat of his pants. Twenty headlamps pointed toward him, throwing long shadows on the jagged walls.

  “Your mother will tan your hide when she sees those britches,” Eddie said.

  “Couldn’t help it. The road’s blocked. Men at the entrance have picket signs. Them that don’t is throwing rocks, like to warn people.” He pressed his hand behind his ear. “I think one of ’em got me.” He inspected the blood on his fingers and nodded.

  “Is he hurt bad?” Tommy asked.

  “He’s eight years old, for chrissakes!” Eddie yelled, taking out a handkerchief and holding it to his son’s head. “The bastards!”

  “It ain’t much.” Buddy lifted his father’s hand away.

  “I don’t give a tinker’s damn how much,” Eddie said. “You hurt my son, you answer to me.”

  Several “sons-a-bitches” and “bloody hells” rose up from the men.

  “I’ve had it with those troublemakers. Tearing apart our union. Spitting on our jobs. And worst of all,” Eddie picked up his son, “attacking my boy.” Stepping into the cage, Eddie looked out at the twenty or so men in front of him. “They’re going to answer for this one!” he yelled. “Who’s with me?”

  One by one, the miners climbed inside with their shovels and pick axes in tow. Tommy stood for a moment, considering the situation. “Hold on,” he said. “I don’t like this any more than you do, but there’s a world of difference between a rock and a pick.”

  “They have it coming to them,” Eddie argued. “Did you see what they did to my boy?”

  “I did,” Tommy said, “and they’ll answer for it. But not this way.” He stood motionless for a moment, wondering what in God’s name he was supposed to do next. Wait
them out? Walk away? Join the madness? Finally, someone in back said, “Davies is right,” and tossed a shovel out onto the ground. “Let’s make it a fair fight.” After a bit of grumbling, the others pitched their tools as well.

  Tommy nodded as he stepped into the cage, relieved and dumbfounded by the group’s sudden change of heart. He signaled the hoistman with two sharp whistles, and as the cage began to ascend, he prayed that he was right.

  * * *

  Anxiety seemed to have lodged itself in Violet’s stomach. When I look at you and Daisy together, I want that too. Of all the silliness, Violet thought as she headed down the front steps. Lily meant no harm. She’d simply said she wanted what Violet had, but with her own child.

  Borrowing trouble. That’s what her father would say, and he’d be right. It’s something she’d always done, and it never served her. Not once. Violet slid into the passenger seat of Lily’s coupe just as the noon whistle sounded down at the Lace Works.

  “I’m telling George it’s your fault,” Lily said as she got behind the wheel.

  “What’s my fault?”

  Lily looked into the rearview mirror and smoothed her hair. “He’s going to think I took too long getting down there with his papers, and I’m going to blame you.” Lily pressed the clutch, closed the throttle, inserted the key into the ignition, turning it to the on position, and pushed the starter button on the dash. “Are you listening? This is important.”

  “Yes,” Violet nodded, finally catching up with Lily’s conversation. “I still don’t understand why you didn’t go before you picked me up.”

  “George won’t yell at you.” Lily turned the steering wheel and shifted into first gear. “And he won’t yell at me in front of you.” She pressed the gas pedal and let up on the clutch.

  Violet’s mouth dropped open. “Lily Morgan,” she finally said, “what’s going on over at that house?”

  “Sherman,” Lily corrected. “I know you don’t like George, and he knows it too.” She pulled onto Spring Street and headed downhill. “It’s written on your face whenever you see him.”