A Different Day, A Different Destiny (The Snipesville Chronicles)

by Laing, Annette

  Hannah didn’t like the sound of that, but she said nothing. To her surprise, as soon as Tam the Deil’s back was turned, Maggie straightened up, and stuck out her tongue at him. An older spinner nearby saw her do it and laughed, and Maggie winked back at her.

  At the end of a very long morning, the factory bell clanged, and as the spinning mules shut down, the workers literally ran for the doors. Hannah was confused. Was this a fire drill? She struggled to keep up behind Maggie as the Irish girl tore through the factory yard, and out of the huge wooden doors into the narrow alleyway.

  “Why are we running?” puffed Hannah. “Where are we going?”

  “We’re away home for our dinner, now, and there’s not much time,” Maggie gasped. “Where do you stay?”

  Hannah puffed, “In Castle Lane, I guess. It’s a dump.”

  “By The Vault? Oh, that’s not so bad. We stay on Whitehall Close. Here, I’ll show you.” Maggie led Hannah into a tiny alleyway between two buildings on the High Street.

  When Hannah slipped into Whitehall Close, she was aghast. “You’re kidding me…”

  It was impossibly narrow: An adult standing in the middle of it could easily have touched both sides at once. The alley gave Hannah the creeps: The stone buildings were crumbling, and wide gaps yawned beneath the decaying wooden doors that led into people’s ground-floor apartments, so that there was nothing to keep out the rain, the rats, and whatever was in the filthy gutter that ran down one side. There were almost no windows on either side of the street. Hannah gagged as they passed a decaying dog’s corpse. Finally, she reluctantly followed Maggie as she ducked into a tiny room with no windows, furniture, light or air. The floor was bare dirt, the air was as damp and freezing as it was outside, and the smell was indescribable. As Hannah’s eyes adjusted to the gloom, she focused on a filthy pile of straw and rags in a corner. It moved.

  “What will ye be wantin’ now?” growled a man’s voice, his words slurred, as he looked up from the rag pile.

  “Nothing, Dad,” said Maggie. “Just a wee visit, like. Go back to sleep, won’t you?”

  As Maggie closed the door behind them, she said to a shocked Hannah, “Now you know why I never take my dinner at home. C’mon, and let’s away for a mutton pie.”

  “But I haven’t got any money…” Hannah said, still reeling from the sight of Maggie’s “house” and father.

  Maggie pulled some coins from her pocket. “Then I’ll treat you. Just this once, mind.”

  The girls walked back along the busy and dirty High Street, until they came to a canopied stall loaded down with steaming stacks of small round pies, each with a hole in its pastry lid. Maggie handed over some coins, and soon she and Hannah were carrying warm pies wrapped in greasy sheets of newspaper. Hannah’s mouth watered, but her feet were killing her. She needed to rest. She said wistfully to Maggie, “Is there a park or anything close by? I want to sit down.”

  “A park?” said Maggie, furrowing her brow.

  “Yeah,” said Hannah. “You know… Grass, duck ponds, frisbees, somewhere we can sit with our pies? Anywhere?”

  Maggie said, “We could sit on the church steps, I suppose.”

  As the two girls squatted on the steps of the Episcopal Church, Hannah unpacked her pie, and took her first bite. The pastry was tough but tasty, and she got a mouthful of a rich meaty gravy with it. It was so delicious that within a few minutes it was gone, leaving Hannah to lick her oily fingers wistfully.

  As she waited for Maggie to finish her meal, Hannah started reading the grease-stained newspaper in which her pie had been wrapped. Maggie was impressed. “You can read?”

  Hannah said, “Sure, can’t you?” But Maggie shook her head. Hannah was astonished: She thought everyone could read. She looked over the front page of the Dundee, Perth, and Cupar Advertiser, and quickly lost interest. It was all about people, places, and things she had never heard of. But just as she was about to drop the paper on the ground, something on the back page caught her eye: A crude drawing of a ship.

  She picked it up and read: FOR SAN FRANCISCO DIRECT, The Beautiful British Built Clipper Barque ‘SALEM’, CAPTAIN B. HAGUE. Hannah pored through the advertisement, and became very excited. …has very superior cabin accommodation for passengers, and presents in every respect a most eligible conveyance. She wasn’t sure what “a most eligible conveyance” might be, but it sounded very luxurious. Finally, the ad gave an address in Liverpool, where people could write for tickets.

  This had to be some sort of sign! How cool would that be, to go home to California? Of course, she would get home in 1851, but maybe the Professor would bring her back to the present in the city… And then a thought struck her. Wouldn’t that be the time of the Gold Rush? Why be poor in Dundee when she could be rich in San Francisco? Excitedly, Hannah scanned the ad to see how much tickets cost, but no price was mentioned. It was then that she spotted another ad below it on the same page:

  CHEAP CONVEYANCE BETWEEN DUNDEE AND LONDON DURING THE GREAT EXHIBITION, WITH BOARD AND LODGING WHILE IN LONDON.

  This was interesting, too…

  The DIRECTORS of the DUNDEE, PERTH, and LONDON SHIPPING COMPANY, desirous of affording all classes an opportunity of visiting London during the EXHIBITION have resolved to make the Fares by their Steamers (unrivalled for speed and comfort) during the ensuing season, and commencing upon the 1st of May next, at the following moderate scale, viz:

  Main Cabin £5 5 0

  Second do. £ 3 13 6 Now Hannah’s heart sank. Five pounds, five shillings! Three pounds, thirteen shillings and sixpence! And only to go so far as London? If that was typical, there was no way she would be able to afford San Francisco unless she robbed a bank. She was only making three shillings a week at Sutherland’s Mill, and most of that would go to Jessie for her rent and food. She thought about taking a second job… But when would she have time to work a second job? Downcast, she nonetheless carried on reading.

  This charge shall include all Fees to servants, (Hannah guessed that this meant tips to the crew),and Provisions on the Voyage up and down (Meals, Hannah guessed again), and BED and BREAKFAST on Board while the Vessel remains in London. By this arrangement, parties securing Berths will have FIVE DAYS IN LONDON, with every accommodation on board equal to the first Hotels, and without further charge—thereby avoiding all imposition which strangers in London are often exposed to (People could stay on board and avoid tourist trap hotels.)

  Hannah ripped the page out of the newspaper, folded it carefully, and put it in her pocket. Maybe she would find a five-pound note lying on the street. Or something. Both ads seemed to be calling her name.

  She turned to Maggie. “So, how about dessert?”

  “Come on, then,” said Maggie. “You talked me into it. Let’s split a rhubarb pie.”

  Hannah rose and followed her new friend into a small bakery, where the air was rich and sweet and buttery, with a slight tang of cooking fruit. Soon, Maggie was holding a warm pastry that looked exactly the same as the meat pies the girls had eaten, only with a pinkish ooze leaking from the top crust. Ladled on top was a generous dollop of yellow cream: It was almost as thick as butter.

  “You know how you were asking about a park,” said Maggie doubtfully. “Well, we haven’t much time, mind, but we could go to the Magdalen Green, although…”

  “Come on,” Hannah said, grabbing her hand and pulling her. “Show me. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I want fresh air.”

  They found a bench in the riverfront park. Hannah had no idea why Maggie hadn’t suggested this earlier: It had a beautiful view of the River Tay, and the green fields of the county of Fife beyond. The rhubarb pie made a messy but marvelous feast, and the girls laughed as they fought each other for each morsel of rich pastry, each dribble of sweet sauce. Hannah wished she had bought one just for herself.

  “This is the land o’cakes, the Scots say,” Maggie sighed as she licked her fingers. “And I believe them. We could never afford wee treats like t
his at home in Ireland. My Da brought us here from County Kerry during the Famine, after we were evicted from our cottage. Da heard there was work here for a laboring man, but he never was able to find much, and he lost the jobs he got building roads, what with his drinking. So we live on my wages, and I buy him his whisky to keep him quiet.”

  Hannah remembered Mrs. O’Donnell mentioning something similar. “What is this Fanning thing you guys keep talking about?”

  Maggie blinked. “The Famine? All of us Irish living here in Dundee, and you’ve never heard of the Famine?”

  Hannah felt awkward. “Um, no, but I’m kinda new here.”

  Maggie looked sideways at her, and said simply, “The common folk in Ireland, we eat tatties… potatoes. Four years ago, we dug the tatties, and they were black. They had rotted. We starved.”

  Hannah was shocked. “We starved? You mean your whole family?”

  “Ma, my brother and sister, they all died by the roadside on the way to the boat. Not just my family, though. People died like flies, Hannah, thousands of people, and the government in London never lifted a finger to save us. Sometimes, I think I hate the English even more than the Scots do.”

  “But couldn’t you guys eat oatmeal, or something like that, or go to a restaurant? I mean, don’t they sell pies in Ireland?”

  Maggie looked incredulously at her. “Hannah, we only had the potatoes. Don’t you understand? There were no jobs for us to make money. We grew potatoes, because it was the only thing we could grow on our tiny wee plots of land that would feed all of us. When the crop died, so did we. We couldn’t even stay in our houses because we couldn’t pay the rent. The landlords evicted us, and burned our cottages.”

  At that moment, a policeman wearing a blue uniform, top hat, and stern look approached the girls. He jabbed a thumb in the direction of the city. “Lassies, away with you if you canna behave. You’re disturbing thon respectable folk over yonder.” He jerked his head toward a small and elegant group of well-dressed people who were eating a picnic on a blanket nearby. They were attended by servants, among them a man with black hair.

  But Hannah wasn’t going to leave without a fight. “How exactly are we disturbing them?” she asked through a mouthful of rhubarb pie.

  The young policeman sighed. “Look, lass, dinna give me trouble, eh?” He was almost pleading. “That’s Mr. Sutherland and his visitors…”

  Hannah was surprised. “Like, Sutherland of Sutherland’s Mill?”

  The policeman rolled his eyes. “Aye, that’s the one. Would you move along? They said that you two tearing into your pie is putting them off their ain food.”

  Hannah pulled a face. “How rude! Tell them not to look at us, then.”

  But Maggie had already got to her feet. “Come on, Hannah. Let’s go.”

  Hannah hated—hated—being told what to do, especially when it was unfair. She didn’t move. “This is a public park, right? And we’re the public. It’s not like we’re poisoning the pigeons or spray-painting the sidewalks.”

  But Maggie had already abandoned her, and even Hannah lost courage when she realized she was alone with the policeman.

  “Okay, I’m leaving,” she announced. But before she headed for the road, she marched up to the startled picnicking group and announced, “I hope you’re happy!”

  “How dare you!” replied a tall elegantly-dressed Englishwoman sitting upright on the picnic blanket. Looking for support, she turned to the elderly man next to her who said to her calmly in a soft Scots accent, “Understand that this is why those of you who live in the country are fortunate, Emma, for you do not live cheek by jowl with the working classes as do we in the city.”

  The policeman had seized Hannah’s arm. “Should I place her under arrest, Mr. Sutherland?”

  The old man shook his head gravely, “No, no, constable, that won’t be necessary. What’s your name, girl?”

  Hannah returned his gaze with suspicion. She hesitated. So this was Mr. Sutherland, her employer. If he figured out that she worked in his factory, she could be fired. Reluctantly, she said, “I’m Hannah.”

  “Well, Hannah,” said Mr. Sutherland. “May I introduce you to Lady Chatsfield? Now, permit me to ask you a question: Do you think that the working classes need a park of your own, where you may enjoy fresh air and leisure?”

  Hannah scrunched up her face. “Um, okay, but what’s wrong with us sharing this park with you rich people?”

  It clearly wasn’t the answer that Mr. Sutherland had expected, and he stifled a laugh, while Lady Chatsfield looked shocked.

  Mr. Sutherland shook his head. “You see again, Emma. This girl’s answer only makes me more determined to see the establishment of Sutherland’s Park for the working classes of Dundee. When they recognize injustice, the people become impudent and even rebellious. It is not enough for privileged folk to threaten them with the workhouse or the prison. We must better attend to the people’s welfare, or else expect consequences…”

  “You fear your workers?” asked Lady Chatsfield, her eyebrow raised. “That is what is wrong with the new order of things. I have no fear of the workers on my estate. Agriculture is the natural order, Cousin Tom. It is your factories that cause discontent.”

  Suddenly, they both realized that they were speaking in front of Hannah, and Mr. Sutherland dismissed her, laughing, with, “Be off with you, you impudent girl!”

  Hannah shrugged. “Don’t worry, I’m outta here. Excuse me if I, like, scare you. I was just out here trying to breathe air that doesn’t smell like poop.” Her head held high, Hannah swept off.

  As she walked back into town, Hannah thought over what had happened in the park. She realized then that, in Dundee, she was afraid in a way that she had never been in Balesworth. Sure, she had been scared of certain people in Balesworth, like Mrs. Archer and Mr. Smedley. But here in Dundee, the fear was all around her. It was a fear of death always lurking around the corner, and a living death for those who survived. It was an oppressive, soul-destroying fear of this place, of this whole dark, dirty, suffocating, and wretched way of life.

  That night, when Hannah trudged into the Gordons’ crowded flat, Mina was sitting with her elbows on the table, and to Hannah’s surprise, she was reading a book. She caught Hannah’s look of shock and amazement. Defensively, she said, “What are you looking at?”

  Hannah smirked. “Nothing. I just didn’t know you liked reading books."

  “Aye,” said Mina determinedly, “and what else would I be reading? Whisky bottles? Some of us have brains that we need to feed. You ought to learn to read, Hannah…”

  “Of course I can read!” Hannah said indignantly.

  Mina looked surprised. “Is that so? Funny, I havna seen you reading yet.”

  “I just don’t like books,” Hannah said. “They’re boring. I mean, there’s other stuff I like to do, like texting my friends, or watching TV, or hanging out at the mall…”

  Everyone was giving her blank looks, so Hannah tried to explain. “I like to write letters, or go to movies…no, wait, no movies in 1851 …um, I mean, I like to go to the theatre, and go shopping.”

  “Fancy tastes,” tutted Mina’s sister Mary, who was knitting in a corner. “I’ve never seen you write, neither. Has anyone else seen Hannah writing? And where do you find the money for the theatre, or for going to grand shops?”

  Hannah thought about this. Mary had a point. Sixpence a week was all she had left after she paid Jessie for her room and board, and that wouldn’t buy her more than a few pies. She had been so stressed since she arrived in nineteenthcentury Scotland, she hadn’t even realized how bored she was. One day seemed to slip into another, without any escape, kind of like how she felt in Snipesville. Surely there was more to life than this?

  “So how can you afford books?” she asked Mina, curiously.

  “I dinna buy books,” Mina said, turning a page. “Sometimes I’m lent them by the minister, and I pay a penny a week’s subscription to the workers’ library.
There’s a lot more to talk about in Dundee than just gossiping about the goings-on at Suttie’s Mill. A few years ago, we even had a speaker all the way from America, a Mr. Ralph Waldo Emerson, the philosopher. Fascinating gentleman with a peculiar name.”

  With a smile, Mina’s youngest sister Mem said, “I heard a rumor today, Hannah, that the police chased you out of the Magdalen Green.”

  Mina looked at Hannah with new interest. “Is that right?”

  Reluctantly, Hannah nodded, and hesitantly she told her eager listeners what had happened.

  When Hannah concluded her story, Mina said abruptly, “Well, that was wrong.”

  “Yeah, I’m sorry,” Hannah said sheepishly. “I’m kind of embarrassed about it now…”

  But that wasn’t what Mina had meant at all. “Nah, nah, Hannah, you did nothing wrong. The Magdalen Green’s for the people, always has been.”

  Her sister Janet weighed in disapprovingly. “Aye, Mina, that’s all very well, but the Green is right in front of the millowners’ villas. You can hardly expect the likes of Mr. Sutherland to sit in the company of dirty mill girls. You’ll need to put on your Sunday best clothes and act respectable if you want to be seen there, Hannah.”

  “Janet, you’re a snob,” Mina said to her sister. But then she turned back to Hannah and sighed. “Mind you, she’s right. We have to show those people that we’re just as good as them.”

  “Great,” said Hannah. “But I don’t have nice clothes, and I can’t afford them when all I get is sixpence a week. I bet you guys make more than I do, right?”

  “Aye, we do that,” piped up Janet. “But if you work hard, you could be a weaver like us one day…”

  “Och, hud yer wheest, Janet,” said Mina irritably, telling her sister to shut up. “Ye ken well that we dinna make much money either, and that it’s no easy job finding a place as a weaver…”

  “We found places,” said Janet stoutly.

  Hannah wasn’t going to stand for that. “Yeah, it was your dad who got you those jobs, because he was a gaffer. Am I right?”