by Ginny Dye
“I do, indeed,” Carrie replied. “He is a very good friend. His sister, Susan, is my business partner in my horse stables.”
“You own a stables, ma’am?”
Carrie grinned, understanding his skepticism. “I do,” she assured him, her tone growing somber. “My husband and I owned it together, but he was killed by vigilantes on our plantation in Virginia. It’s mine now.”
Sarge whistled. “Your husband be killed by the vigilantes?” His eyes darkened with anger and fear. “I’m real sorry to hear that.”
“Thank you,” Carrie replied, and then had a thought. “Do you know Moses Samuels?”
Sarge chuckled outright. “Moses Samuels? Well, of course I do. Ain’t nobody who ever met Moses could forget him. He’s too big to be forgot. I didn’t serve in his unit, but he knew Captain Jones, too. How you know Moses?”
“He’s my best friend’s husband,” Carrie confided, “and also one of my best friends.” She paused, wondering how much she should say, and then decided there was no reason to not reveal everything. The only way people in America would know that things could be different is if they were to see it being different. “He also happens to have become half-owner of the plantation my family has owned for generations.”
Sarge took a deep breath as his eyes widened. “You really think I’m gonna believe that?”
Carrie shrugged. “I don’t really care if you believe it or not. I’m just telling you the way it is.” She decided to not go into the revelation that Rose was also her father’s half-sister. There was only so much the poor man could take.
Sarge focused on his driving for a while, and then turned back to her. “Why you tellin’ me all this?”
Carrie smiled. “Because people of every color need to know things can be different if we truly want them to be.” She paused while she thought, grateful their conversation was keeping her mind off the cold. “And not just black people,” she added.
“What you mean?” Sarge asked.
“There are many people here in America that are not equal,” she answered. “Women should have the vote,” she said firmly, “and husbands shouldn’t have control of their wives.” Her thoughts crystallized as she spoke. “And it’s not only blacks who have a hard time in America. The Irish have been treated terribly, as have other ethnic groups.” She shook her head. “We talk about America being the land of the free and equal, but sometimes I think it only applies to white men.”
Sarge was staring at her. “You get into a lot of trouble talking like that, ma’am?”
Carrie chuckled. “Sometimes,” she admitted. “But it’s true. And, it needs to be said.”
“You really know Moses Samuels?”
“I really do,” Carrie replied with a smile. “He and Rose are at Oberlin College right now. One of his men from the army is running the plantation while they’re gone. Most of the Cromwell workers came from his old unit. Moses is studying to be a lawyer, and his wife, Rose, is preparing to be a teacher.”
Sarge went back to studying her. “And you really believe things can be different?”
“I have to believe it,” Carrie replied, almost surprised to realize how desperately she felt that. “I know things are still very difficult for you, but isn’t it better than being a slave?”
Sarge nodded emphatically. “That be the truth.”
“It took a long time for that to change, but it did. I’m sorry to say I believe it will be a long time before blacks are truly equal, but there are a lot of people fighting to make that happen, too. If you give up believing, then you have no reason to fight.” Carrie thought about the question that had started the conversation. “Why did you ask me about Octavius Catto?”
Sarge chuckled. “I already done forgot about that. Remember your surprise that the streetcars got black folks on them now?”
Carrie nodded, waiting for him to continue.
“There be a woman named Caroline LeCount. She be Catto’s fiancée.” He paused. “I didn’t finish telling you about Catto, though. I should do that first. He’s not all black, like lots of black folks. He’s from some fancy mixed-race family down in Charleston that was free, but his daddy brought them up here. And, he ain’t just a teacher. He also a real fine baseball player,” Sarge boasted. “He’s done turned Philadelphia into a major hub for Negro league baseball.”
“Baseball?” Carrie asked in surprise.
Sarge nodded. “He helps run the Pythian Baseball Club here. They went undefeated two years ago, back in ‘67.”
Carrie could tell how much pride Sarge felt. Then she had a thought. “Do you play baseball, Sarge?”
He shrugged modestly. “I might have been on that team,” he said dismissively, then went back to his story. “Anyway, back in March of ‘67, the General Assembly of Pennsylvania passed a bill saying black folks can be on the streetcars. Well, three days later, Caroline LeCount, that be the woman engaged to Catto, tried to get on one of them cars. She also be a real fine teacher, by-the-way. Anyway, the conductor weren’t about to let her get on—told her we wasn’t allowed to ride on the cars. He was real rude to her. Now, most people would a probably just let it go ‘cause they don’t want to draw attention, but not her,” Sarge said proudly. “She went to a magistrate first, but they weren’t gonna be no help, so she went all the way up to the office of Secretary of the Commonwealth right here in Philadelphia, and got herself a copy of the legislation that said she could get on that streetcar. Well,” he said with a chuckle, “that conductor done got arrested and had to pay a hundred dollar fine.” He smiled in satisfaction. “And the Blacks been riding the city streetcars ever since.”
Carrie clapped her hands. “What a wonderful story! And what an extraordinary woman. All of us have to demand that things be different if we want them to be.” She thought about what Sarge had told her. “So Catto is mulatto?”
“Yep.”
“Where does he teach?”
“Over at the Institute for Colored Youth,” Sarge answered. “Why you want to know?”
Carrie was relieved there was no suspicion in his look, just mere curiosity. “The couple I’m staying with while I’m here in Philadelphia are very good friends.” Again, she didn’t feel the need to go into all the details. She was still appalled and embarrassed by what her grandfather had done to Old Sarah. “Jeremy is mulatto,” she revealed, “though he looks completely white.” She hesitated, wondering how much she should say, but quicly decided it didn’t matter, because no one could ever miss Sarah Rose’s mixed heritage. “Jeremy’s wife is white. They recently had twins. One came out white, while the other looks more black.”
Sarge whistled. “I didn’t know stuff like that could happen.”
“It can happen,” Carrie assured him. “Anyway, I think Catto could be a very good connection for Jeremy. He fought hard for black rights in Richmond. I know he wants to continue that fight here in Philadelphia.”
Sarge nodded. “He didn’t stay down there in Richmond ‘cause of how his mixed baby gonna be treated,” he said shrewdly.
“That’s right,” Carrie agreed.
“What’s Mr. Jeremy do?”
“He’s taking over as manager of the Cromwell Factory in Moyamensing,” Carrie revealed.
Sarge shook his head. “Well, if that don’t beat all.”
Carrie waited for him to continue.
“Catto grew up down in Moyamensing once his daddy brought the family up here. That be a real poor part of town,” he revealed.
Carrie remained silent, wanting to know what else he was going to say.
“Just the poor blacks and the Irish lived down there. Catto went to a place called the Lombard Street School. Back then it was the only grammar school for blacks. He and his friends got real used to sprinting down Lombard Street through all them Irish boys.” He shook his head. “It weren’t real safe.”
Carrie could easily imagine the fights that had broken out among the boys.
“When they opened up the Inst
itute for Colored Youth, Catto went there. He did real good. And now he teaches there.” Suddenly his eyes widened. “Ain’t I taking you down to Moyamensing?”
“That’s right,” Carrie agreed. “I’m going to visit a friend.”
Sarge seemed to accept that. “I heard some good things about that factory,” he said. “I wish they were hiring more black folk, but I figure it’s making things down there better anyway, now that they be hiring the Irish. They ain’t got so much reason to hate us.” He paused, thinking. “You know, those Irish be one of the biggest reasons it took black folks so long to get on the streetcars. They didn’t want black men to be able to get rides down to the wharf where they could take their jobs.”
“Life is hard for a lot of people,” Carrie said sympathetically. “Fear makes people do things they might not normally do.”
“You figure your friend Jeremy is gonna hire some black folks down in Moyamensing?” Sarge pressed.
Carrie considered his question. “I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “Cromwell Factory was started in Moyamensing to give the Irish a chance for a fair-paying job. There seem to be more opportunities opening up for blacks elsewhere in the city since the war ended, but there’s not much for the Irish.” She paused. “I do know, however, that Cromwell Factory down in Richmond has hired about an equal number of whites and blacks. If the factory here is able to expand, I suppose I could see that happening.” When she finished speaking and saw the expression on Sarge’s face, she realized she had probably said too much. She didn’t feel the need to hide her identity, but she preferred to keep it low key.
Sarge was staring at her. “You sure do know a lot about Cromwell Factory.”
Carrie sighed. She didn’t want to renew his earlier suspicions because she was being evasive. She wanted Jeremy to get an opportunity to meet Octavius Catto. Looking up, she held Sarge’s gaze, amazed that he could still continue to maneuver the carriage through the crowded streets when he didn’t seem to be paying much attention to his driving. “My name is Carrie Cromwell Borden,” she said. “My father and stepmother own the factories.”
Sarge whistled. “Seems like that be somethin’ you should be shoutin’ from the rooftops so that people know how important you be.”
“Being their daughter does not make me important,” Carrie protested. “They are the ones who have created the factories and the opportunities.” Knowing that her influence had helped make it happen in Moyamensing was quite enough for her.
Sarge was staring at her with an assessing look. “So what do you do, Mrs. Carrie Cromwell Borden?”
Carrie smiled. “I’m a doctor.”
Sarge whistled again. “A lady doctor?” He shook his head. “For real?”
“For real,” Carrie assured him, and then she stiffened. “Watch out!” she cried.
Sarge whipped around in the seat just in time to pull the carriage around a large wagon that had suddenly turned and almost blocked the road. “Land sakes,” he hollered, shaking his fist at the other driver, who merely scowled in return.
Carrie was relieved when Sarge decided to focus more closely on his driving. She was warmer, but she was no less eager to reach Biddy and Faith’s house. Her heart saddened when she allowed herself to focus on the fact that Biddy was gone. She could hardly believe it was a year ago that she had held Biddy’s hands while her friend died. She took a deep breath, remembering all their wonderful conversations, and how coming to grips with her own Irish heritage had launched Cromwell Factory in Moyamensing.
“I miss you, Biddy” she whispered. Indeed, she knew she always would. Biddy had become the grandmother she’d never had. All she had to do was close her eyes to see Biddy’s sparkling blue ones, full of kindness and compassion. Suffering losses that would have crushed most people, Biddy had become more determined to make a difference. Carrie prayed she would do the same thing every day of her life.
“It won’t be long now,” Sarge called back over his shoulder.
Carrie was relieved when she realized they had finally broken through the worst of the traffic and were very close to Moyamensing. She was confident the cold snow would have everyone inside. No one but Faith was expecting her, and her heavy layers of clothing concealed her identity. She normally loved being greeted by all the Moyamensing children, but today her heart wasn’t in it. She was focused on fulfilling the mission Biddy had given her.
Ten minutes later, the carriage rolled to a stop in front of the impressive home Biddy and Faith had shared. Carrie was glad she’d gotten an early start that morning. She handed Sarge enough money for a good lunch. “Will you return in four hours?”
“You bet, Mrs. Borden,” Sarge answered. “I’ll get you home before dark.” He cast an eye at the sky. “But what if it keeps snowing? I’ll have a hard time getting through these roads.”
Carrie cast a practiced eye at the sky. “It won’t snow much longer,” she said confidently. “I believe we’ll be fine.” She laughed at Sarge’s dubious look. “I’m a plantation girl,” she reminded him. “I know you didn’t have much snow in Mississippi, but I learned how to read the weather signs when I was a little girl. We’ll be fine.”
Sarge shrugged. “Whatever you say. I’ll be back in four hours.”
Carrie jumped from the carriage and ran toward the house, giving a cry of delight when Faith appeared in the doorway. “Faith!” Her delight faded when she got closer to the slender, elderly black woman. She was still thrilled to see her, but she was alarmed at how much Faith had aged in twelve months. Always slender, Faith now looked almost skeletal. Carrie kept the smile fixed on her face as she clasped her friend’s hands, stepped inside, and pulled the door closed against the cold. “It’s so wonderful to see you.”
Faith pulled her close. “Carrie…” she murmured.
Carrie held her in a warm embrace until she felt Faith relax. Only then did she step back. “How are you?” she asked quietly.
Faith sighed. “We both know I don’t look very good.” She shook her head. “I know Biddy would probably be disappointed in me, but I’ve been kind of fading away ever since she left us. I’ve got lots of folks around here who check on me, and I’m very grateful, but living without Biddy in this big house is very lonely.”
Carrie nodded with sympathy. She understood grief. She also knew Faith was almost eighty years old. She was convinced it was Faith’s companionship that had kept Biddy alive until ninety-eight. What was going to keep Faith alive? An idea that had been germinating in the back of Carrie’s mind suddenly sprang to full-blown life. She knew though, that she would have to approach it carefully. She lifted her head and sniffed. “Do I smell cookies?”
Faith smiled, her eyes brightening a little. “Did you really think I wouldn’t have cookies for you?” she demanded.
“I didn’t want to have expectations,” Carrie murmured.
“Since when?” Faith scoffed. “Every time you walk through that door, you’re expecting my cookies.”
Carrie was happy to see a flash of Faith’s old spirit, and she was suddenly certain her idea was a good one. “Guilty as charged,” she said with a laugh. She hooked her arm through Faith’s and walked with her to the kitchen, glad to find it warm and cozy.
Faith interpreted the look on her face. “Arden comes by every morning to build up the fires,” she told her. “Biddy’s grandson has been very good to me in the last year.”
“I’m glad,” Carrie replied. “He knows how much you meant to Biddy.” Her heart filled with sadness as a look of desolation filled Faith’s eyes. It was time to put her plan into action. “Let’s take the cookies into the parlor.”
Faith piled a plate with cookies, added a pot of steaming tea and two delicate Davenport china cups, and then led the way.
Carrie had to battle tears when she spotted the chair where Biddy had taken her last breath. She watched as Faith carefully avoided looking at it, and then settled into a chair that would keep her eyes trained in a different direction. Car
rie doubted Faith used the room very often. She pushed aside her own grief as she poured the tea, adding a little bit of cream and sugar. “So, it’s time for the clinic,” she said cheerfully.
“It is,” Faith said, seeming to draw energy from Biddy’s last request. “I found a place a block or so from here that I believe will be the perfect location. It’s in the center of Moyamensing, and it’s large enough to handle the amount of people I believe will come.”
“And they’ll let us rent it?” Carrie asked. “It can be difficult to find spaces for a homeopathic clinic run by a woman.”
Faith snorted and smiled her first genuine smile. “Oh, they’ll let us,” Faith said confidently. “I found out recently that Biddy owned the building. Since I was put in charge of all her property until I pass on, and then Arden after me—who wouldn’t dare deny Biddy’s request—we don’t have anything to worry about.”
“That is wonderful news!” Carrie paused, making sure her face and eyes showed the correct amount of concern. “We still have a problem, though.”
Faith’s eyes sharpened. “And what would that be?”
“Well,” Carrie said, “I have an idea of who I would like to run the clinic once I have it established, but I would want them to live in Moyamensing so they would be close to their patients.” She sighed heavily. “Lodging around here can be hard to come by, and I would want them to be comfortable, especially if they’re a single woman.” She looked at Faith. “Do you have any ideas about that?”
Faith stared at her for several long moments before she answered. “You want them to live here.”
Carrie couldn’t tell if Faith was annoyed, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her. Still, she shook her head quickly. “Not if it would be an inconvenience in any way,” she assured her. “I do like knowing, however, that the woman running the clinic that was Biddy’s last request, would be in a safe, warm place.” She tried to keep her voice neutral, but she was aware she might be going a little overboard.
Faith narrowed her eyes. “Do you have someone in mind?”
