‘‘If I could be spendin’ me time workin’ in the mills, I’d na be complainin’ about anything.’’
‘‘Ah, lass, ya do na know what ya’re saying. Ya have the freedom to move about and go outside when ya’re wantin’ to; ya can work in a fine house and not a lint-filled room with the windows nailed down—ya should na be thinkin’ ya’re unhappy in such a fine place.’’
Kiara could not share the thoughts flashing through her mind—thoughts of the five years she’d have to suffer at the hands of Bradley Houston—so she offered no rebuttal to Granna’s argument. ‘‘Aye, and now with all the girls fallin’ ill, I worry that our Bridgett will get the sickness. She’s worn herself down with all the extra looms she must tend, and she dare na miss a day or there’s the devil to pay.’’
‘‘I heard a bit o’ talk about sickness in the mills when some ladies came for tea, but I was helpin’ in the kitchen and did na think it was more than a few girls suffering from a stomach ailment or the sniffles. So there’s more to the tale?’’
‘‘Aye, and I’m wishin’ I could be tellin’ ya what’s causin’ the illness, but it seems ta be striking workers in all of the mills.
There’s been three or four die, all but one of ’em Irish lasses.’’
Kiara gasped and covered her mouth with her open palm.
‘‘That’s terrible news, Granna. It’s an ill wind that’s blowin’ over the Irish. Seems we can na escape the cold hand of death.’’
‘‘Aye, ’tis true. We’re a people created fer sufferin’ and that’s a fact.’’
Rogan jumped up from his chair and ran his fingers through the thick dark fringe of curls that covered his forehead. ‘‘I’ll na be listenin’ ta such sorrowful talk. ’Tis a fine day, and we should be countin’ our blessings instead of sittin’ here and mopin’ about. I’m gonna go and see if Michael O’Donnell and Timothy Clary will gather up some fiddle players, and we’ll have us a time of singin’ and dancin’ out in the street after supper.’’ He started toward the door and called over his shoulder, ‘‘I’ll be back to fetch ya in a short time, lass.’’
‘‘I think the lad’s got an eye fer ya,’’ Granna Murphy confided when Rogan had cleared the doorway.
‘‘But ya said he’s a lad with a wanderin’ eye.’’
Granna looked up from the pot of stew she was stirring, her lips curving into a sly smile. ‘‘Aye, but when the right lass comes along, he’ll settle.’’
‘‘He’ll likely find the right lass afore I’ve completed my five years of servitude, so we best quit our talkin’ about ’im.’’
‘‘Ya might consider visitin’ the church more often and gettin’ down on yar knees, lass. The Lord knows what’s happenin’ in yar life, and He’s watchin’ over ya.’’
‘‘He was na watchin’ over my ma or my pa when they died.
And if He cared about me at all, I would na be livin’ where I am.
I do na think a prayer or two is gonna get the Lord on my side.’’
‘‘I know ya’re unhappy, lass, but do na be blamin’ yar troubles on the Lord. It’s the devil roamin’ around causin’ us misery at every turn. And ya can be sure the devil’s likin’ it a heap if he can keep ya from prayin’.’’
Rogan burst through the door, waving a fiddle in the air. ‘‘I’ve taken Timothy Clary’s fiddle hostage and told him he’ll na get it returned unless he fiddles fer us tonight.’’
‘‘Ya’re a rascal if ever I saw one,’’ Granna scolded.
‘‘Aye, that I am. Are ya ready to fetch yar supplies, lass?’’
Kiara nodded and hurried to join him. She kept up with his long-legged stride, taking two steps to his one, and listened to his easy monologue regarding his life in Lowell and the Acre.
‘‘So if it’s such a fine job ya have with Liam Donohue, why are ya sittin’ about at home today?’’ she finally asked.
He gave her a lopsided grin and her stomach flip-flopped.
‘‘Ya’re full of sassy questions, ain’t ya, lass? Well, I’ll have ya ta know that I been workin’ from dawn to late into the night for nigh unto a month now completin’ a fine piece o’ work, and Liam saw fit to repay me with a few days to enjoy meself. We begin work Monday on another job that will keep me mighty busy too.’’
‘‘I’ve heard that name before,’’ she said, thinking for a moment.
‘‘I’m thinkin’ his wife was at the tea. Would that be possible?
Though I do na think she was Irish.’’
‘‘Aye, she’s a Yank—but a fine one fer sure. I been told some of the fine folks do na like her since she married an Irishman. Liam says she has a deep faith and believes what the Bible says. He says she lives her beliefs and does na concern herself with what other people think.’’
‘‘Good for her.’’ She opened the door of Paxton’s and started inside. ‘‘Aren’t you coming?’’
‘‘Most of these shop owners do na like Irish inside. They don’t mind when it’s a lass who works for a Yank, but they’d rather the rest of us stay away. I’d rather spend my coins in the Acre anyway.
Ya go on and make yar purchases, and I’ll be waitin’ right here when ya come out.’’
Kiara pulled out the note and handed it to Mrs. Paxton. ‘‘I’ll go and get my thread while you fill the order,’’ she told the storekeeper.
Mrs. Paxton was wrapping several bottles in heavy brown paper when Kiara returned with the thread. ‘‘Is that medicine you’re wrapping for the missus?’’ she asked.
Mrs. Paxton peered over the top of her glasses and down her pointy nose. ‘‘If your mistress wanted you to know what was in the package, she would have told you instead of sending me a sealed note.’’
Ignoring the acerbic remark, Kiara dug into her pocket and placed several coins on the counter. ‘‘Here’s fer the thread.’’ She took up the parcel and thread and headed for the door. Just because I’m Irish is no reason to go bein’ all uppity. She would have loved to have spoken the words aloud.
‘‘Let me carry that fer ya,’’ Rogan offered.
The kindness of his gesture delighted her. As she handed him the package, sadness came creeping in without warning, replacing her joy. Determinedly, she pushed it away. At least for this brief time, she would take pleasure in her life. There was no hope that she and Rogan could have a life together. He was a fine God-fearing man, and he would expect a woman of virtue and purity.
She could offer him neither. Tears came to her eyes, but she swiped at them quickly and stepped up her pace. There was to be a fine Irish supper and a night of music and dance. She would have the rest of her life to regret Rogan Sheehan, but tonight she would cherish their time together.
CHAPTER • 24
KIARA LOOKED heavenward at the sound of a loud thud above her head, then raced out of the kitchen, shooting her question at Sarah. ‘‘Do ya think the missus has taken a fall?’’ She took the stairs two at a time and skidded to a halt in front of the closed door. She tapped lightly but didn’t wait for an answer before shoving open the door.
‘‘Missus! Oh, Mrs. Houston!’’ She dropped to her knees beside Jasmine, who lay in a heap alongside the bed. ‘‘Speak ta me—are ya all right?’’
‘‘Kiara, help me into bed,’’ Jasmine said in a strangled voice.
Sarah came in the door and stopped short at the sight. ‘‘What’s happened?’’
‘‘I do na know. She was on the floor when I came in. Help me get her into bed.’’
As gently as they could, the two of them lifted Jasmine up into bed. ‘‘She feels as though she’s taken a fever.’’ Kiara poured water into the basin sitting on the commode and dipped a cloth into the cool water. Gently placing the compress upon Jasmine’s forehead, she glanced toward Sarah. ‘‘Could ya hand me that bottle on the chest, please?’’ She covered Jasmine with a thick quilted cover before taking the bottle from Sarah.
‘‘Just as I thought. Dr. Horatio’s Spice of Life.’’ The bottle was nearl
y empty. She took a deep whiff of the contents and ran her finger around the rim of the bottle before taking a taste. ‘‘Have ya been drinkin’ this?’’ She held the bottle in Jasmine’s view.
Her eyelids fluttered. ‘‘It gives me strength,’’ she whispered.
The words had barely escaped her lips before she emitted a low guttural groan and drew her body into a tight knot. ‘‘I’m having terrible pains. I’m afraid the baby’s going to come.’’
‘‘Don’t ya even be thinkin’ such a thing. It’s only September!
It’s much too early for the babe to be comin’.’’
Jasmine wet her dry lips. ‘‘It can’t live if it’s born this soon, can it?’’
‘‘I’ll na be tellin’ ya a lie, missus. There’s no way it would live, so you best be stayin’ put in that bed. I’m goin’ downstairs and try and mix up some herbs that might be o’ help. How much of this have ya been drinkin’?’’
‘‘I take a couple of spoonfuls every few hours.’’
‘‘Is this all ya have left?’’
‘‘No. There’s more in the drawer.’’
Kiara opened the bottom dresser drawer. It was filled with Spice of Life glass bottles—all empty, except for one. ‘‘How did ya get all of . . .’’ She hesitated a moment, suddenly realizing what she had been carrying home in the paper-wrapped packages. ‘‘Is this what I’ve been bringin’ to ya every time I went to Paxton’s and bought my thread?’’
Jasmine nodded. ‘‘I knew you disapproved, but without the medicine, I didn’t have enough energy to meet Bradley’s expectations for a proper wife.’’
Kiara seethed at the comment. Bradley! Self-centered, egotistical Bradley. Mrs. Houston had played the perfect wife, entertaining at weekly teas and attending all the fashionable parties in an attempt to please him. It now seemed that losing his heir might be the price for meeting those demands.
She raced upstairs to the attic room and hurriedly clawed through one of her worn satchels until the feel of slick, cool glass greeted her fingertips. Grasping the tiny bottles in her palm, she flew down the three flights of stairs and hurried into the kitchen.
She silently prayed the few herbal compounds she’d brought from Ireland would provide a panacea to counteract the effects of the elixir. Taking great care, she measured and mixed the herbs and was preparing to add warm water to a tonic she hoped would aid her mistress when Bradley caught her around the waist.
‘‘You weren’t in your room last night.’’
‘‘Paddy was na feelin’ well, and I went to look in on him.’’
‘‘You’re lying. You were hiding from me. You think I won’t keep my word and get rid of the boy. I don’t need to wait for a journey to Boston to send him away. I could take him to work in the mills tomorrow. There’s not a supervisor who wouldn’t take him off my hands and put him to work on one of those monstrous carding machines. Of course, he’d likely end up losing an arm, but since you obviously care little about what happens to him, that wouldn’t bother you.’’
‘‘Get away from me! Your wife is ill and I’m fixin’ medicine to help her. Instead of thinkin’ of yarself, ya should be worryin’ over her.’’
He drew back his arm in a wide arc. She flinched, expecting to feel the powerful whack of his hand. Unexpectedly, his arm remained extended in the half-moon position. ‘‘What’s wrong with Jasmine?’’ He glared down at her as though the announcement of his wife’s illness had just registered in his mind.
‘‘I’m fearin’ the babe may be comin’ before its time. You best be ridin’ for the doctor. I do na think I’m equipped to be of much help.’’
He turned on his heel and ran toward the barn. Kiara prayed Paddy would be quick to saddle the horse, for she knew he’d feel the sting of Bradley’s whip should he tarry. Bradley’s words of warning had not been forgotten; she dared not hide again tonight.
An involuntary shudder raced through her body at the mere thought of Paddy working in the mills. Having her brother spend long days around the carding machines would be fearsome enough, but with the mysterious illness now plaguing the mill workers, she didn’t want Paddy anywhere near the factories. She completed mixing the potion, corked the bottles, and hurried back upstairs.
Sarah was hovering over Jasmine, her face creased in a worried frown. ‘‘I was beginning to think you were never coming back,’’ Sarah said. She moved around the bed and edged toward the door.
‘‘I’m better in the kitchen than the sickroom, Kiara. I’ll go down and make some gruel if you think it would help.’’
‘‘Go ahead with ya, Sarah. I’ll look after her. I’m no stranger to a sickbed. You can make the gruel. I doubt she’ll eat anything today, but ya never know.’’
Sarah skittered out the door without a look back. Hiding in the kitchen would have been Kiara’s preference too, but she knew Jasmine needed her help. She had grown fond of the young woman who had shown her nothing but kindness since the day she arrived. Why a beautiful young woman with a kind heart would marry the devil incarnate was beyond Kiara’s imagination.
Yet she knew Jasmine desired this baby with all her heart, so she would do everything in her power to help her.
Cradling Jasmine in one arm, she lifted her upper body.
‘‘Drink this, ma’am. It will help stop the crampin’.’’ Jasmine swallowed the potion and sank back against Kiara’s arm. ‘‘I want ya ta stay layin’ on your back, and I’m gonna prop your legs on some pillows until we can get the bed raised up with some bricks. I’ll have yar husband help me when he returns. He’s gone to fetch the doctor.’’
Jasmine’s eyes were glazed with pain. ‘‘Bradley knows?’’
‘‘He came into the kitchen when I was mixin’ the herbs. I asked ’im to go for the doctor.’’
‘‘Does he know I’ve been drinking the elixir?’’
‘‘I did na say anything except you were crampin’ and the baby might be comin’.’’
‘‘Promise you won’t tell him. If anything happens to the baby, he’ll think I’ve done this intentionally in order to cause him pain.
I’ll never be able to convince him I was only trying to be a good wife.’’
The fear in Jasmine’s eyes spoke volumes to Kiara. Apparently,
Bradley Houston didn’t pick and choose: he meted out his cruelty to all who crossed his path—even his own wife. Jasmine held Kiara’s hand, her fingers trembling in a weak grip. ‘‘I’ll not be tellin’ him. Now lay back and rest.’’
Kiara sat by Jasmine’s side, watching as the herbal remedy began to ease the cramping. Within a few hours, Jasmine’s restlessness subsided, and she slipped into a deep, peaceful sleep. Kiara pulled the rocking chair close to Jasmine’s bed and remained nearby, wondering why Bradley hadn’t returned with the doctor hours ago. It should have taken no more than a half hour to saddle his horse and ride into Lowell. She feared the pains would begin anew before the doctor arrived. When she’d nearly given up hope, she heard the sound of approaching horses through the open window. Dr. Hartzfeld entered the room with the confidence of a man determined to perform the job set before him. ‘‘I see she’s sleeping,’’ he said, nearing the bed.
‘‘For at least an hour now. What took Mr. Houston so long? I thought you’d be here long before now.’’ Her voice was filled with recrimination.
‘‘I was delivering a baby—breech birth. I couldn’t leave one woman’s bedside and run to another. There were two lives in danger.’’ ‘‘Aye. And there’s two lives in danger here too. The mistress wants nothin’ to go amiss with the babe,’’ Kiara said.
Dr. Hartzfeld pulled back the coverlet and began to examine Jasmine.
‘‘Why don’t you go downstairs and give Mr. Houston a report.
He feared they both might be dead, and he didn’t want to come up. Tell him I’m checking his wife and I’ll talk to him once I’ve finished my examination.’’
Kiara did as requested, distancing herself from Bradley w
hile she relayed the information. Without waiting for possible questions, she ran back upstairs, explaining she was needed to assist the doctor. She hurried into the room, closing the door behind her.
‘‘You’ve done some fine medical work,’’ Dr. Hartzfeld complimented. ‘‘Do you know if she took a fall or what might have brought on the early labor pains?’’
‘‘Do I have yar promise ya’ll not breathe a word to Mr. Houston?’’ The doctor gave her a sidelong glance. ‘‘So long as there’s been no foul play.’’
‘‘Nothin’ such so bad as that,’’ she said, motioning the doctor to join her across the room. ‘‘Have ya heard tell of Dr. Horatio’s Spice of Life?’’ she asked, retrieving an empty bottle from Jasmine’s dresser and handing it to Dr. Hartzfeld.
‘‘These tonics come and go. Many people take them.’’
‘‘Aye, but I think this one contains somethin’ more than the usual whiskey and water. I tasted a bit of it, and I think it contains a poison herb. I used a concoction I knew helped counteract the effects, and it seems to be workin’ on the missus.’’
The doctor’s face twisted into a scowl. ‘‘And how would you know about poison herbs?’’
Kiara met his gaze with dogged confidence. ‘‘There was them that mixed up evil brews in Ireland, sayin’ it would rid ya of the devil. O’ course, it did na work because them that took it needed health-givin’ herbs, not poison. Mrs. Houston’s been takin’ this tonic for several months, hopin’ it would give her energy. I think the poison has been buildin’ up inside her.’’
The doctor stroked his graying beard. ‘‘Possible, possible,’’ he muttered.
Encouraged by his remark, Kiara continued. ‘‘While I waited fer ya to get here, I was thinkin’ that maybe this tonic is what’s makin’ the girls in the mills sick. I’ve heard they take it to give them enough energy to keep up with their work. I even heard talk the Corporation was furnishin’ it for them so they’d work faster.
Tracie Peterson & Judith Miller - [Lights of Lowell 01] Page 27
