Hannah didn’t want to speak. Carefully, she felt the back of her head, where she found a great knot. All she could manage to say was “Hurts.”
Jessie said, “Aye, lass, it must.”
“Tylenol?” Hannah croaked.
“What’s she blethering aboot?” interrupted Jessie’s grandson, John, who was crouching in the corner of the room, tossing a pebble from hand to hand.
“Hud yer wheest, you,” Jessie chided him, then, louder to Hannah, she said, “What’s that you’re wanting, pet?”
By then, Hannah had remembered that Tylenol didn’t yet exist. “My head hurts,” she whimpered. Her chin trembled from the pain.
Jessie clasped her hand. “Mrs. Gow said there was nothing broken. You just need your bed. And she made this draught for you, to help you get to sleep. Drink it.” Jessie gently lifted her head, and pressed a rough clay cup to her lips. Hannah sipped the bitter-tasting liquid and scrunched up her face in disgust. But Jessie wouldn’t remove the cup from her mouth until she drank it all.
Mrs. Gow was the midwife, and Jessie had sent John to fetch her as soon as Hannah had arrived home on Mina’s arm. Hannah hoped that Mrs. Gow’s medical knowledge went beyond delivering babies, because doctors were out of the question: They cost too much. Hannah didn’t know if doctors in 1851 knew what they were doing, anyway. Jessie swore by Mrs. Gow’s healing skills, but how reliable was she? Hannah wondered if she had concussion, and wasn’t it dangerous to go to sleep with concussion? But Mrs. Gow’s drink quickly took effect, and, soon, Hannah was unconscious.
When she awoke, it was with a raging thirst. She was feeling very irritable, but her head felt much better. Jessie was sitting in front of the fire, sewing a patch onto a dress. At that moment, Mina walked in, pulling off her bonnet. “Well, that’s him sorted oot,” she exclaimed, collapsing into the chair across from her mother. Jessie looked quizzically at her.
“Tam the Deil!” explained Mina. “I’ve made sure he won’t trouble any lassies again.”
Jessie, shocked, put her hand to her face. “Mina, what did you do to the man?”
Mina laughed. “Don’t worry, Mother, he won’t have the police to me. I didna hurt him. I just telt him to leave Hannah and the other lassies be, or else a few big pals of mine would see to him.”
“And what big pals would they be?” Jessie asked skeptically.
Mina laughed. “No idea. But the thing is, Tam disnae know that.”
Jessie smiled and so did Hannah. She was still afraid of returning to work, but Tam never said a word to her on the day of her return, or the day after that. Better yet, all the spinners were more kindly toward her than ever.
On Saturday afternoon, Hannah returned to the apartment after taking a walk with Maggie, only to find it empty. She wondered where everyone was. She hung around forlornly, bored out of her mind, wishing she had something to watch, or even something to read. Finally, with relief, she heard the echo of several pairs of feet pattering up the stairs. Jessie and her daughters burst in, along with Mina’s boyfriend, Jack. He and Mina were hand in hand and laughing.
“Hannah!” cried Mina, giving a startled Hannah a resounding kiss on the cheek. “Well, we did it! We tied the knot!”
Hannah was confused. “You mean… You got married? When did that happen? Where was the wedding?” And, she asked herself silently, why wasn’t I invited?
“We married at Jack’s hoose this afternoon!” Mina cried. “Oh, dinna look so sorry for yourself, Hannah, you’re invited to the party, of course! We’re all ready for a wee bit of dancing and song, are we not?”
Her mother, sisters, and new husband cheered in agreement. “And I daresay now is the time,” said Jack, pulling a whisky bottle out from under his coat, “to celebrate with a wee dram for old time’s sake.”
Janet hissed at him, “Put that away before the minister arrives.”
“Oh, the minister’s not coming here to this humble abode,” Jack said, unplugging the green glass bottle. “We’re not posh enough for his company at our wee celebration. A health!” He raised the whisky to his lips, took a swig, and immediately started to cough. “Urghh… Och, that’s terrible stuff.”
“Aye, well,” Mina said sourly, “Serves you right. Now, make us some music, Jack. Betty, fetch up Old Eck MacIntosh and his wife, and see if he would bring his fiddle. ”
As Jack began to pull his banjo out of its case, Hannah took Mem aside. “What’s Mina’s new name?” she whispered.
Mem looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“Her new name? Jack’s last name?”
Mem smirked. “Eh, Hannah, I dinna know how they do things in your part of Scotland, but in Dundee and anywhere else I know, the women keep their own name. So she’s still Mina Gordon. But Jack’s name is Strachan. Now let’s celebrate while we can, because they’re off to Glasgow in two days to meet the boat to America!”
Strachan? Where had Hannah heard that name before? She had that weird feeling behind the eyes you get when you’re trying to remember something, and it’s just out of the reach of your memory… The name, for some reason, made her think of her mother in San Francisco. But why? It wasn’t her mother’s name. When Jack grabbed Hannah for a dance, she forgot all about it.
The morning Mina and Jack left for Glasgow, to meet the ship that would take them to America, Mary could barely speak to say goodbye, because she was crying her eyes out. In fact, the only member of the family who wasn’t crying at the train station was Mina. They all stood shivering in the dark of the early morning. All that is, except for Jessie, who had complained that morning of pains in her arms, and had stayed at home. “I dinna trust these newfangled railway trains,” Janet said anxiously. “Mina, mind you and Jack dinna go deaf when you go through the tunnels.”
Mina tutted. “We won’t go deaf, Janet, that’s a lot of nonsense. Better you worry I dinna get seasick, because that’s what’s troubling us, isn’t it, Jack?” She shook her new husband’s arm to get his attention. “Pay me heed, Jack, would you?”
Jack was standing next to their travelling trunk, clutching his beloved banjo to his chest, and looking very downcast. “Sorry, Mina. I was just thinking about what a long way from home we’ll be.”
“Aye well,” said Mina firmly, “It’s too late to fret now, our tickets are bought and paid for. And we’ll be back in a few years, no doubt, wi’ all our riches from America.”
Mem tapped Jack’s arm. “And both of you watch out for all thae wild Red Indians.”
Hannah thought how offensive that was, but she tried to remember that she was in a time and place before the world’s peoples knew much at all about each other.
“Aye,” said Mina. “Dinna you worry, it’s them red Indians as will have more to fear from me!”
Everyone laughed, but the laughter suddenly trailed away as a steam train approached the station. Mary said quickly to her oldest sister, “Dinna forget to write us a few lines, lassie.”
Now Hannah could see the tears in Mina’s eyes, as she said, “Och, dinna be daft. Of course I’ll write.”
When the train pulled into the station, Hannah, desperate to play a role in this drama, rushed toward a carriage intending to open the door for Mina and Jack, but Janet stopped her, telling her that it was reserved for first-class passengers. So Hannah ran down the platform, but the next several carriages were for second-class passengers only. All that was left were third-class carriages: Three open wagons. And it was toward these that Mina and Jack were heading.
“You’ll get wet!” Hannah cried as the other girls helped Jack load in their baggage.
“It’s only a bit of water,” Mina exclaimed as she climbed in, and wiped a puddle off a hard bench seat. “And we’ll get there in the end, same as them who paid first-class.”
Hannah smiled, thinking of how her mom had always said the same thing when the family travelled on airplanes in economy class.
As the train pulled away, the Gordon sisters waved, and carried on
waving until long after Mina and Jack had disappeared into the haar, the mist that rolled off the River Tay.
Hannah was preoccupied with Mina’s departure, but she didn’t think about what it might mean for her to lose Mina’s protection at the jute mill. She was also distracted by Jessie’s illness: Three days after Mina left, Jessie was still in bed, so Janet had taken unpaid time from work, and had taken over all the shopping, cooking and cleaning.
When Hannah went to work that morning, Tam the Deil stopped her at the gate, and told her with barely-concealed glee that her services were no longer required at Sutherland’s Mill. What was more, he informed her triumphantly, she was blacklisted as a troublemaker by all the Dundee jute mills, meaning that she would never again find work as a piecer in the city.
Hannah, to her astonishment, had been fired.
She cried as she walked home in the pouring rain. What would she do to earn a living if she couldn’t work in the mills? She might starve to death before she saw the Professor again. But then she took comfort from knowing that she had the support of the Gordons. They wouldn’t let her starve, and so long as she belonged to their family, she knew she was safe.
Hannah found Jessie lying in bed and Janet peeling potatoes. She delivered the news with maximum drama. “Tam the Deil fired me!” she sobbed, flinging herself face-down on the nearest bed, which happened to be Jessie’s. Jessie groaned as Hannah landed on her. Unconcerned, Hannah sat up and continued her tale of woe. “And he says he’s going to make sure I don’t get a job at another jute mill in Dundee.”
If Hannah had expected sympathy, it wasn’t forthcoming.
Jessie sighed. “Aye, well, I telt Mina it was a bad idea to cross that man,” she said weakly. “You’ll have to start looking for work today.”
“Today?” Hannah lifted her head from the blanket in astonishment.
Janet laid down her peeling knife, and wiped her hands on her dress. “Aye, today, of course,” she said sharply. “With Mother not well, we can barely make ends meet as it is, and we canna support a lodger who hasn’t a penny to her name. I’m sorry, Hannah, but that’s that.”
Hannah was stunned. “Are you seriously telling me you will kick me out if I don’t find another job?”
Jessie coughed and looked uncomfortable. “Well, let us hope it disnae come to that, eh? You’re a clever lass, Hannah. I’m sure you’ll find something.”
Hannah went from shock to hurt to anger in a split second. “Okay, that’s it,” she yelled, and she ran out of the door, and didn’t stop running until she was back on the High Street. Her head was spinning. She had thought Jessie cared about her, that she thought of Hannah as one of the family. But now that Hannah was down on her luck, Jessie was prepared to throw her out on the street. Hannah wasn’t sure what was worse: Being homeless, or being rejected by the Gordons.
Hannah desperately wanted to leave Dundee behind. The morning rain had given way to bright sunshine, and, even though it was a little windy, she decided to walk up the Law, the massive extinct volcano around which the city was built. As she climbed, Hannah began to persuade herself that nobody in Dundee was really her friend. As she reached the summit, she was tempted to keep on walking, down the other side of the Law and across the Sidlaws, the hills that lay to the north, to take a chance somewhere else in Scotland. Maybe Aberdeen was nicer. But maybe she would starve to death before she even got there.
Hannah felt so sad, it actually hurt to think. She sighed heavily, gave one last look toward the Sidlaws, and reluctantly turned back toward Dundee, walking awkwardly through the long grass. The wind was picking up, combing across the surface of the hill. With a shiver, Hannah pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. She was just starting down the dirt path, when she saw an old gentleman walking briskly uphill toward her, carrying a long walking pole. As he drew closer, Hannah gasped: It was Mr. Sutherland, the mill owner. She stopped and stared at him, but he never gave her a second look as he passed her.
Hannah suddenly felt angry. Very, out-of-control, crazily angry. She yelled his name. Startled, Mr. Sutherland wheeled around.
Hannah shouted, “Do you know what it’s like for people who work at your factory?” Without waiting for an answer, she continued. “We’re poor, and our food is totally unhealthy, and our apartments are, like, horrible. And you hire some of the meanest men as gaffers. That Mr. Mitchell? We call him Tam the Deil, and he’s a total drunk, and he’s cruel to all….”
Mr. Sutherland quietly interrupted her. “Have I not met you before?”
Suddenly, Hannah was on the defensive. She pulled a face. “Maybe.”
He leaned on his walking stick. “You’re the girl I met in the park, aren’t you? What’s your name?”
Reluctantly, she reminded him.
“Well, Hannah Dow,” he said. “Be gone, and leave me to walk in peace.”
“Wait a minute!” Hannah cried. “What about everything I said? About Mr. Mitchell, and, I mean, you live in a really nice house and have lots of money, and we’re all poor.”
Mr. Sutherland looked at her in puzzlement. “But that is the way of the world. Some are born simply to be hewers of wood and drawers of water. That is in your Bible: The Book of Joshua, chapter nine, verse twenty-three. If you are dissatisfied with your employment at my factory, you can seek a position elsewhere.”
Hannah’s brain was working overtime now. None of this sounded right to her, but where to start? “Yeah, but all the jobs are really bad, and all the mills pay the same, so where do we go? Anyway, I got fired today.”
But Mr. Sutherland didn’t reply. He simply walked away.
Hannah was bewildered. She knew what this meant. To him, what she said was unimportant. Her life was unimportant. Now her rage exploded. “I’m NOT NOTHING!” she shouted. “I’m a person! I’m a kid!”
But Mr. Sutherland kept right on walking up the Law. Hannah was drained. She was no longer the Brave Girl Who Stood Up to Rich People. She was a puny little nobody.
Slouched in defeat, Hannah was walking along the Nethergate when suddenly she felt an urgent tap on her shoulder. It was Maggie, who was in tears. “Hannah, I’m sorry, I had to find you. This came for you at the mill, but a quarter-hour ago.” She handed her a thick envelope sealed with a small blob of hard red wax.
In alarm, Hannah took it from her. “What is it? Did it come from one of the Gordon sisters? Or is this the official letter firing me?”
“Eh, no, I know all those sisters, and this was from none of them. No, this was a biddy I’d never clapped eyes on in my life. Said she was a friend of yours, and her name was Harrower.”
Opening the packet, Hannah discovered a note wrapped around a bundle of documents. She read the note first, which said, “For your voyage, wherever it may take you, KDGH.” The documents turned out to be five one-pound notes.
“What does it say?” Maggie asked.
In reply, Hannah hugged her and then did a small victory dance. “It says I’m free! I can leave Dundee.”
Maggie was taken aback, but Hannah didn’t explain. She felt so incredibly relieved, and suddenly, everything seemed so much better. In a rush, she said, “Maggie, it’s been awesome knowing you, and I hope your life gets better. But I gotta go.”
With that, she turned away. But she hadn’t walked more than three paces when she felt overcome with guilt. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out her last two penny coins, and handed them to Maggie. “Here, go buy yourself something. I’m sorry. Really, I am. And have this, too.” She handed Maggie one of the pound notes. Maggie stared at it: She had never seen a pound note before.
Hannah explained. “It’s a pound. Take it to a bank, and they’ll give you twenty shillings for it.”
Maggie laughed and put a hand to her mouth. “Don’t be daft, Hannah.”
“No, really,” Hannah said. “I know it seems like a lot of money, but it won’t go far. Maybe you can use it to eat some better food or something.” Maggie just stared at her. Hannah
felt helpless to do more. Even if she gave her the whole five pounds, the money would run out, and then what? And most of it would probably go to buy her father more whisky. How much could charity help Maggie, the Gordons, or any of these people? How could they help themselves when even the better jobs barely gave them enough to survive? It was overwhelming. Hannah did not like to be overwhelmed.
She broke eye contact with Maggie. “Anyway, I’m going. Take care. Have a nice life. It’s been great knowing you. I’m sorry. Enjoy your pound.”
“But Hannah, why are you leaving?” Maggie asked in dismay. “Where will you go? Here, have your money back so you can stay here.”
She offered back Hannah the pound note. Hannah saw the tears in Maggie’s eyes, and knew then that she really did like her just for herself. She gave her friend a hug, and tried to explain. “I can’t stay here, Maggie. I have to find a way home.”
“And where’s that?” Maggie asked, wiping her eyes. “New Lanark?”
“No, not New Lanark. It’s a lot farther away than that. My home’s in…” And then she stopped. What would she say? Snipesville? San Francisco? With her grandparents in Sacramento? With Mrs. Devenish in Balesworth in 1940? She finished the sentence lamely: “…in a faraway place.”
Hannah didn’t know what else to say. She bid Maggie an awkward goodbye, and the last she saw of her, Maggie was standing in the street, sadly watching her walk away.
From her pocket, Hannah pulled out the crumpled and torn newspaper sheet with the travel ads. She already knew that she had to sail to London, because she still didn’t have enough money for San Francisco. What choice would she have had without the Professor’s cash? She would have been in deep trouble.
****
It was hard for Alex to believe, but the moment had arrived for him to leave Georgia for England. Standing on the cobbled dockside of the Savannah River, in the shadow of Mr. Thornhill’s office building, he watched as slaves loaded travel chests and bundles onboard the steamer. The night before, he had said farewell to Jupe, who looked thoroughly downcast. Alex had no idea what to tell him, and so their farewell had been extremely awkward.
A Different Day, A Different Destiny (The Snipesville Chronicles) Page 22
