These Tangled Threads

by Tracie Peterson

  “No, I’m not certain I do understand. Why would he let his position in the mills affect his stand on slavery?”

  Lilly leaned closer. “As I explained at the meeting, the mills are dependent upon cotton, and cotton is raised in the South. Without slaves, the Southern plantation owners say they are doomed for failure.”

  Daughtie nodded her head. “I see. So it’s not a matter of what’s right or wrong but what’s economically in the best interest of the Southerners?”

  “Not exactly. You may have twisted my words just a bit. However, it’s the economic future not only of the Southern plantation owners but all of us that would be affected if slavery were abolished. However, I don’t know how much serious thought has been given to the total impact abolition would have upon the country. Don’t misunderstand—I’m an abolitionist through and through.”

  “Well, I think we’ll all be called to make sacrifices if slavery is ever to be abolished. It will require a commitment to place others ahead of our personal economic security. I’m extremely eager to hear Miss Crandall speak this evening. From what I’ve been told, she’s a very brave woman, and she’s been forced to make difficult decisions. One can’t help but applaud her willingness to model a lifestyle that exemplifies the cause she so capably champions.”

  Reverend Walters moved to the lectern and rapped with a wooden gavel several times before the assembled crowd turned their attention to the front of the church.

  “If I could have your attention,” Reverend Walters said. “Miss Crandall has arrived, and we’ll begin as soon as the room quiets.”

  The sound of murmurs and shuffling feet subsided, and Reverend Walters cleared his throat. “Because Miss Crandall must leave for Connecticut early in the morning, I’ll reluctantly forego the urge to spend at least an hour telling you of her bravery and fine accomplishments. Instead, I’m hoping she’ll include the many details of her struggle over the past year, and I believe what she says tonight will heighten your awareness of the bigotry and hatred that sometimes occurs when a person takes a stand for egalitarianism.”

  Reverend Walters turned to his right and motioned Miss Crandall forward. The speaker’s long fawn-colored hair was swept into a decorative coil that framed her face and added fullness to her long, narrow features. Her piercing blue eyes and the white bodice of her russet dress accentuated the porcelain fairness of her skin. She gazed into the audience as though taking account of each person in attendance before uttering a word.

  “Thank you for braving the cold in order to attend this meeting. I come to speak to you about a matter of grave concern, and I pray you will give consideration to what I say this evening. I believe each of us will one day be required to take a personal stand on the issue of slavery. Now, I’m not talking about whether we’re from the North or the South and what the general opinion of that locale may be; I’m talking about deep down inside our beings, what you as an individual believe. I tell you this because you may be required to put your convictions to the test. Unfortunately, I have already been forced to take a stand. Little did I realize I would be met with such hostility and anger—and this type of behavior was from people who profess to be abolitionists. I find there are many who say they oppose slavery, yet few of them believe in equality for the Negro. I say that the Negro must be given his freedom and treated as an equal to the white man. There is a mighty chasm between freedom and equality. What I am about to tell you is proof of that statement.”

  Daughtie gave Miss Crandall her rapt attention, anxious to hear the unfolding story.

  “This whole affair began through no instigation on my part. In 1831 I was approached by a number of families residing in Canterbury who valued my Quaker upbringing. They’d heard I was an experienced teacher and encouraged me to open a school for their daughters, who had already completed their primary education requirements. I made arrangements with the bank to purchase a home on the Canterbury Green, a house large enough to accommodate the girls who would be boarding with me. Everything progressed nicely. The residents of Canterbury were pleased, enrollment soon reached capacity, and from all appearances, opening the school was a sound decision that worked to the benefit of all concerned.

  “However, in 1833 Miss Sarah Harris, a young lady of color who was living with her parents in Canterbury, approached me. Miss Harris had attended the district schools in Norwich, Connecticut, and dreamed of becoming a teacher herself. This fine young lady believed that once she received additional education at my academy, she would be equipped to teach people of her own race. Naturally, I applauded her desire and agreed that she could attend classes. She remained at home with her parents and merely came to the school each day for classes. Nonetheless, once word spread about town that I had admitted Miss Harris, the residents of Canterbury were outraged.”

  A smattering of murmurs could be heard throughout the church. Daughtie wasn’t certain if folks were whispering their approval or displeasure over Miss Crandall’s actions. Daughtie, however, was in awe of Miss Crandall’s moral fiber and was anxious to hear every word the woman uttered.

  “Needless to say,” Miss Crandall continued, “I was surprised and saddened by the attitudes and behaviors with which I was confronted. All of my white students withdrew from the school, for their parents were unwilling to accept a Negro girl being educated beyond the boundaries of the district schools. Realizing that I would soon be destitute, yet unwilling to bow to the demand of ejecting Miss Harris, I consulted with several abolitionists. After much thought-provoking discussion and prayer, I made the decision to reopen my school. However, this time I organized it as a school for the education of young ladies of color. I began recruiting pupils throughout the Northeast for the first boarding and teacher training school for young women of color.”

  Miss Crandall hesitated for a moment and gazed about the church. “I was astounded when the people of Canterbury immediately retaliated by sending representatives to the Connecticut General Assembly. The Assembly quickly passed a law prohibiting the education of out-of-state Negroes in private schools. Although there was no doubt the law was specifically aimed at closing my school, I have defied that ill-conceived law and continue to operate. I have been arrested, spent the night in jail, endured one trial, and will soon suffer the disruption of another, yet I plan to fight on for the equality of educating these fine young ladies. Many of those who oppose my school also say they oppose slavery. Perhaps they do; I am not their judge. However, I believe all people must be treated with the same equality and opportunity. So on this cold winter’s night, I come to tell you that if you stand for abolition, you may be forced to bear some discomfort. But if you believe in equality, be prepared—for you will surely suffer.

  “My students and I continue to be bullied and harassed, but we will withstand as long as humanly possible. Should the safety of the girls become a factor, and I fear one day it shall, I may be forced to reevaluate my position. But for now, I stand resolute in my determination to educate any young woman desiring an education, regardless of color.”

  Applause filled the church, though not as boisterously as when Miss Crandall had taken the podium earlier in the evening. Several people left the building before the question-and-answer session began, while others, obviously pro slavery, stayed and queried her unmercifully. Daughtie watched with admiration as Miss Crandall patiently responded to the inquiries without evidence of anger.

  A tall, well-dressed man stood near the back of the church. “In case you people of Lowell don’t remember what’s needed to keep this town operating, let me remind you that it’s cotton,” he called out. “It takes slaves to raise that cotton. If we’re to survive, these mills need to operate. Without cotton, the mills will fail and you’ll be without jobs. Before you adopt Miss Crandall’s ideology, you’d best decide if you can survive with the ramifications of such a decision.”

  “Thank you, sir. I concur with your last remark,” Miss Crandall stated. “I’m not encouraging anyone to blindly follow alon
g with my beliefs. Each person in this room needs to prayerfully evaluate the truth that God speaks to his or her heart and be prepared for the consequences of the decision, whether for or against slavery. I’m well aware this town is dependent upon the cotton raised in the South. I disagree, however, that the only way to raise cotton is through the use of slaves. Granted, those wealthy plantation owners may suffer some losses if they’re required to pay wages, but cotton can be raised without slavery.”

  The man wagged his head in obvious disagreement. “Just remember, folks, if the plantation owners are required to pay wages, the price of cotton will increase, which means the cost of production increases, so the cost of cloth will increase. If folks can buy imported cloth cheaper, production will dwindle and your wages will decrease—if you’re able to maintain a job at all.”

  “That makes sense,” another man agreed. “And I can’t afford to lose my job.”

  “Yeah, and what if those Negroes move up here and are willing to take lower wages for our jobs? We’d have them and the Irish to deal with!”

  A sense of anger rose within Daughtie, and she stood to her feet. “People need to have a willingness in their hearts to do what’s right no matter what the personal cost. Wouldn’t you want the Negroes to sacrifice for you if the situation were reversed and you were held in bondage?” With legs trembling, she plopped down on the pew, her meek nature having returned full force.

  “They could all go back to Africa and be free. They wouldn’t be competing for our jobs thaddaway,” another man remarked.

  “You gonna pay their passage, Emil?” someone called out. A few chuckles followed, and an embarrassed-looking Emil Kramer sat down.

  There was more Daughtie wanted to say, but the few words she had spoken earlier left her feeling drained and inadequate. She listened as members of the audience continued to speak and, on several occasions, clenched her fists in anger at the comments being made. Yet she knew little would be accomplished through hostility and brash words and was relieved when Reverend Walters finally called the meeting to a close.

  The moment the crowd was dismissed, Daughtie rushed forward, determined to speak with Miss Crandall. For a short time she was forced to move against the crowd, much like a fish swimming upstream, but finally she freed herself from the other attendees and waved her handkerchief in the air. “Miss Crandall! May I have a moment?” she called out, hoping her voice could be heard over the din.

  Miss Crandall turned in her direction and then motioned Daughtie forward.

  Breathless, Daughtie rushed up the two steps to the stage and came to a halt in front of the speaker. “Thank you for waiting. I’m Daughtie Winfield,” she said, almost feeling as though she should curtsy.

  Miss Crandall’s face warmed in a bright smile. “Prudence Crandall. I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Winfield. What may I do for you?”

  “I wanted to personally express my admiration for you and the work you’re doing. I was hoping we could discuss in more detail what might be done to overcome the attitudes opposing equality for all races. I agree with everything you’ve said this evening, especially your words that we must not only free the slaves but also have a willingness to embrace them as equals. I find some of the people in this community unwilling to treat the Irish as equals, and that attitude causes me to question the sincerity of their stand for abolition. Do you believe they can treat the Negroes as equals when they won’t do that much for the Irish immigrants?”

  Miss Crandall patted Daughtie’s hand. “Or women, for that matter,” Miss Crandall said. “Based upon my own experience, I seriously doubt the black man will be considered an equal when he is finally freed, but that doesn’t mean we should blindly accept such an attitude. Change will not occur if we silently agree to whatever the majority imposes upon us.”

  “I apologize for interrupting, but we really must leave, Miss Crandall,” Reverend Walters said.

  “Of course,” she replied and then turned back to Daughtie. “Above all, pray for guidance, my dear. I’m sorry we don’t have more time to visit, but should you feel so inclined, you may write to me.”

  “Oh, thank you. Corresponding with you would give me immeasurable satisfaction.”

  “Then by all means, please do so. I promise to answer each and every letter,” Miss Crandall said while pulling on her doeskin gloves. She fastened her gray woolen cape, then bid Daughtie good-bye before following Reverend Walters out the back of the church.

  Ruth was waiting outside the door and quickly latched on to Daughtie’s arm. “Where have you been? We’d best hurry if we’re going to make it back to the house before curfew.”

  “Matthew and I will take you home, won’t we?” Lilly offered as she glanced up at her husband, who was conversing with Liam Donohue. “It’s too cold to walk all that distance.”

  Daughtie glanced toward Liam, but he said nothing. Why didn’t he offer to take her home? Instead, he pulled up his collar against the cold, bid the Cheevers good-night, and after nodding in her direction, hurried off toward his wagon.

  “What did you think of Miss Crandall?” Lilly inquired after they were seated in the carriage with warm woolen blankets tucked around their legs.

  Ruth squirmed forward. “I was very impressed with what she said. Her courage is remarkable, and I completely agree with what she said regarding equality. It truly does little good if the slaves are freed and then prevented access to the same opportunities as their white brothers.”

  “Which white brothers?” Daughtie asked, meeting Ruth’s surprised gaze.

  Ruth’s mouth gaped open in an exaggerated oval. “Why, whatever do you mean, Daughtie?”

  “Equality doesn’t exist between the ‘white brothers.’ So I’m wondering if the fairness you speak of would provide Negroes the same equality we give the mill workers and farmers, or would it be the same access we give the Irishmen? The Irish are permitted to dig canals and haul stone, but they’re relegated off to the Acre to live in shanties, their children are required to attend separate schools, and they are treated with disdain,” Daughtie passionately replied.

  “You just want to argue,” Ruth responded. “Just because I don’t think you should be keeping company with Liam Donohue, you attack everything I say regarding fair and equal treatment of differing people.”

  “Daughtie has a valid point, Miss Wilson. The Irish are mistreated and underappreciated. They don’t receive the same advantages as other white people in this community— or any other, for that matter,” Matthew replied. “However, Daughtie, you might want to talk to my wife regarding the sensibility of a courtship with Mr. Donohue. Don’t misunderstand; Liam’s a fine man and we value his friendship. But I doubt whether the community will harbor the same attitude.”

  Daughtie gave momentary thought to pinching Ruth’s arm. How dare she make such unsolicited remarks about Liam? Even if they were keeping company, it was improper of Ruth to speak of the matter.

  Lilly gave Daughtie an enchanting smile. “I think Daughtie has a very sound mind, and I doubt she needs my assistance sorting out the details of her personal life. In fact, I believe she’s quite mature and certainly capable of deciding what’s best for her future.” Lilly reached across the carriage and patted Daughtie’s arm. “That isn’t to say I wouldn’t be happy to discuss the matter, if you desire. However, it’s not a topic I would broach should you come for tea.”

  Daughtie returned Lilly’s smile. “Nor is it one I would expect you to solve. Quite honestly, I fear Mr. Donohue is even more concerned than Ruth about the ramifications of such a social relationship—if it’s possible to be any more alarmed than Ruth,” she added.

  Ruth stiffened beside her, and Daughtie felt a modicum of satisfaction. Perhaps Ruth would think twice before attempting to embarrass her again.

  “As I said, Liam’s a fine man, but right or wrong, there are undeniable prejudices against the Irish. You should be careful,” Mr. Cheever warned.

  “Daughtie tells me she’s had word
from Bella, and they’re enjoying their time in England,” Lilly said, obviously intent on changing the topic of conversation.

  “That reminds me, I failed to tell you we received a missive at the mill office just the other day. It was from John—seems his father’s health took a downward turn, and with winter setting in, he doubts they’ll return until early spring.”

  Lilly turned to face her husband. “Oh, my. That means they’ll be gone over the holidays. I was so hoping they’d be returning any day—before the weather turned any colder. How disheartening . . . yet I’m being selfish. I am pleased John and Addie can be with John’s father and lend their assistance.”

  “I know, my dear. I miss them, too.”

  Thoughts of defending Liam quickly slipped from Daughtie’s mind. Bella would be gone until next year. An undeniable pang of despair clutched her heart as the carriage pulled up in front of Mrs. Arnold’s house.

  “Here we are,” Matthew said. He opened the carriage door and assisted both girls down. “We’ve gotten you home with at least fifteen minutes to spare.”

  “Thank you for the ride,” Daughtie said.

  “Do let me know if you hear further from Bella or Miss Addie,” Lilly called out before the carriage began to pull away.

  “I will,” Daughtie called after them.

  The house was dark save a burning candle Mrs. Arnold had left for them on the candlestand beside the stairway. While Daughtie removed her cloak and hung it on a peg by the doorway, Ruth grasped the candle and silently led the way to their room.

  Once inside, Daughtie closed the bedroom door and began preparing for bed.

  “You’re angry with me, but I’m only looking out for what’s best for you,” Ruth said, breaking the heavy silence that permeated the room.

  Daughtie seated herself on the bed. “I don’t need you to mother me, Ruth. If I want your opinion regarding the choices I make, I shall ask. Your intent to embarrass me in front of Mr. and Mrs. Cheever was obvious. But I’m more angered by your statements regarding equality than by what you said to the Cheevers. I can’t imagine how you can say you believe in equality for the Negroes and then, in the next breath, defame me for seeking to befriend an Irishman. Your words and deeds are in opposition.”