The Daughters of Jim Farrell

by Sylvia Bambola

  Had Kate read her thoughts? Virginia studied her sister and felt her heart fill with love. Kate was so wise and stable and loving, but also at times, so very rash. Yet even now, when Kate was burdened with her own problems, she thought of Virginia. Only the downturn of Kate’s brow suggested she was troubled. The lovely chestnut-colored hair piled on her head just so, her beautiful violet eyes shaded beneath long thick lashes, the gentle curve of her full lips, the tilt of her head, all evoked, for Virginia, a feeling of serenity, and this made Virginia marvel all the more, for everyone was still angry with Kate, including Mother, over her rash behavior at the dry goods store.

  The town was still buzzing, too, and all manner of accusations concerning Kate’s soundness of mind had been leveled, not surprisingly spearheaded by Martin Roach. “Mad woman” he had called her, while others had described how crazed Kate looked when she entered the store. Even Joshua Adams, when he returned from Philadelphia, was furious when he found out, and had called her “reckless.” But Kate seemed unrepentant, and continued to insist she had done the right thing. It seemed as if she was prepared to withstand them all. Oh, she could be so stubborn. Yet, Virginia couldn’t help admiring her grit. Maybe if she had more of Kate’s courage she’d be able to tell Patrick how she felt about him, though surely he already knew.

  “Quickly, Kate,” Mother said, heading for the front door without even trying to glance through the window. “Get the bag and clean rags.” Then turning to Virginia and Charlotte, she added, “You two handle lunch.”

  Charlotte gave Virginia a knowing look as Mother issued instructions for cutting up the cooked chicken; for baking the three loaves of bread that were even now rising on the stovetop; for putting together a garden salad; and finally, for slicing the leftover mutton and heating the gravy.

  “You should be able to handle that easily enough,” Mother said, stopping at the door.

  Both Virginia and Charlotte had followed her. “We’ll be fine” Virginia said, glancing at Charlotte, who appeared unsettled and confused—a look she had worn for days, ever since her “dinner call” at the Gaylord’s. It distressed Virginia to see her sister this way, especially since she knew her articles had contributed to Charlotte’s troubles. But it seemed that all three of them: she, Kate and Charlotte, were on different and often colliding paths, and only God would be able to sort it out. She just prayed He’d do it quickly.

  “Don’t worry, Mother,” Virginia said, taking Charlotte by the arm and heading for the kitchen, all the while wishing that this time she could go to the mine, too. How was she ever going to get through the rest of the morning without knowing if Patrick was all right?

  Virginia hadn’t touched her lunch. Not one morsel. Her stomach was too agitated. All morning she had walked around with a feeling of dread, wanting desperately to know what was going on at the Mattson, but fearing to know it, too. And no matter how many silent prayers she offered up to God, she couldn’t dispel her fear.

  Even while she and Charlotte cleared the table, then washed the mound of dishes, she couldn’t dispel it. So when the knock on the door came and she found Michael O’Malley standing on their front step staring down at his scruffy black boots as though unwilling to look at her, Virginia knew her fears were not unfounded.

  “What is it, Michael?”

  “You heard the breaker whistle didn’t you, Miss Virginia?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Well, I just found out it was soundin’ the bad news for Patrick O’Brien and some others.”

  Virginia resisted the urge to clutch the doorpost. “Is he . . . dead?”

  Michael O’Malley looked up, damp ringlets squeezing past the edge of his cap. “Can’t say. He and them others was robbin’ pillars when the whole roof collapsed. There’s a crew tryin’ to get to ‘em. Been at it for hours. Some say they heard voices behind the rubble so maybe some of the men are still alive, but nobody knows for sure.”

  Virginia grabbed the boy’s arm and yanked him into the house. “You must come with me to the colliery.” She pulled off her apron. “Charlotte. Charlotte!” She flung the apron across one of the front parlor chairs. “Charlotte!”

  Charlotte came from the kitchen, holding a rag and looking peeved at having been called in this rough manner. But she stopped when she saw the little one-handed boy standing in the foyer. “What’s . . . wrong?”

  Widow Clayton and Miss Rodgers had also left their comfortable parlor chairs and were standing in the hall staring at Michael.

  “I’m going to the colliery,” Virginia said, without further explanation.

  Charlotte’s eyes widened. “You can’t, Virginia! What if Mother and Kate don’t get home until late? Who’s going to fix dinner for everyone? I can’t do it all myself!”

  “I’ll be back as soon as possible.” One of Virginia’s hands was on Michael’s shoulder, the other on the handle of the front door.

  “But if you’re not, what will I do?” Charlotte’s lip quivered. “What will I make? How am I to cook for all these people?”

  Virginia released the knob and Michael O’Malley. “Listen to me, Charlotte. Someone I care about is trapped in that mine and I don’t know if he’s dead or alive. Now pull yourself together. You’re not a child. You can do this.”

  “I . . . I’ll try . . . I’ll do my best,” she stammered as Widow Clayton took her by the hand.

  “Don’t worry, dearie, I’ll help you.”

  “And so will I,” Miss Rodgers added.

  “Go on, now.” Widow Clayton waved Virginia away. “I know what it is to have someone you love trapped in a mine. You go ahead, and don’t worry about us. I haven’t forgotten how to make my famous stew with just a little meat and some potatoes and vegetables. Add a few loaves of fresh bread to sop up the gravy and everyone will think they’re feasting like kings.”

  That’s all Virginia needed to hear. Without another word, she grabbed little Michael O’Malley and darted out the door.

  Virginia was grateful for Michael’s company. Though she had been to Higgins Patch and the outer fringes of the Mattson Colliery numerous times researching her articles, she hadn’t been inside the colliery complex for years. It had seemed exciting then: a hub of activity, where strong, brave men spent their days. It seemed to speak of dignity and independence. Now, it frightened her. It was large, dirty and dangerous, with the tall hulking breaker looking like a monster belching coal dust and sounding, with its grinding and crushing noises, like it was busy gobbling up those inside.

  Everything seemed to be covered with black grit, even the women huddled in tight frightened circles watching the head frame and pulley above the opening of the mine shaft and waiting for their rescued men and the rescuers, too, who often sustained their own injuries in the process. She tried to take it all in, but couldn’t. It was too enormous; a sprawling complex of coal dust-covered structures. On a distance incline, white smoke curled from the six stacks of the boiler house, and in between, like black growths springing from blackened soil were the powder house, water tanks, wash house, supply house, carpenter and blacksmith shops. Then came the buried culm bank, the newer smaller bank, and a criss-cross of steel tracks dotted by wooden cars, most of which were filled with coal and on their way to the breaker. It overwhelmed her.

  “I don’t see Mrs. Farrell. Do you know where she is, Michael?”

  Michael O’Malley, who almost behaved like a little boy on the way over with his jumping and stomping, and who seemed to enjoy holding her hand until now, wiggled free. “No ma’am, but I need to be gettin’ back to Sweet Air. There’s money to be made. But after quittin’ time, I’ll come back and check on things.” With that, he darted off, leaving her standing alone amid the gloomy, soot-covered buildings.

  Where were Kate and Mother? Surely they would remain near the head frame. She scanned the faces around her. Most of the women appeared shy when they notice
d her looking their way. But some nodded in greeting. It embarrassed Virginia, but she had become well known in the patch as more and more miners and their families learned of her articles in the Monitor. And because of them she was often treated like a dignitary.

  “If you’re lookin’ for your kin, they’re over there,” one woman finally said as she pointed to a spot somewhere behind the giant pulley. And when Virginia went in that direction, she found Mother and Kate talking to an elderly woman.

  “It didn’t take you long to get here,” Kate said, walking toward Virginia after noticing her.

  “How could you know I was coming? I just found out about Patrick. Michael O’Malley came and . . . .”

  “I know. I sent him.”

  “You sent him?”

  “When he came to the colliery to see what was happening, I told him I’d give him a few pennies to go and tell you. By then, lunch was over and I knew you’d be able to come without leaving Charlotte in a lurch. But he wouldn’t take the money.”

  “Thank you for that.” Virginia threaded her arm through Kate’s. “Does that mean you are all right now? With the friendship? Between me and Patrick?”

  “Not completely. I still have concerns. I know you care for him more than you let on, and he’s not the man I would have chosen for you. But who am I to decide such things? These days I’m barely able to manage my own life, and seem to be making a mess of the lives of those I love. And when it comes to men, to matters of the heart, I’m an utter imbecile.”

  “You’re speaking of Joshua Adams, aren’t you? I always knew you were sweet on him. He’s a fine man, Kate. And I believe he has liked you from the very first.”

  “He thinks I’m a fool. He’s as much as told me so. But I swear, Virginia, when I thought of Martin Roach and Father . . . well, I was like a bull in front of a red flag.”

  Virginia brushed her cheek against Kate’s shoulder. “He’ll get over it. And you were foolish, Kate. But oddly enough, I respect what you did. I ponder everything, then ponder it again. I wish I knew my mind like you know yours, and then have the courage of my convictions. Like you do.”

  “Oh, Virginia, what are you saying? You have such a fine mind. I’ve always admired that about you. And you have plenty of courage, too. I don’t know many women who would go to a strange city and picket like you did with Miss Anthony, or defy convention and a powerful corporation to write for the Monitor. But when it comes to men, perhaps both of us could use some guidance. I know I could. I’m so confused, Virginia. I do love Joshua. But I’m not sure I love him enough, and even if I was sure I loved him enough to spend the rest of my life with him, I’m not sure I have what it takes to stand up alongside a man like that. See what a mixed up sister you have?”

  “Oh, Kate, I’m just as mixed up because that’s exactly how I feel about Patrick! I suppose we really are imbeciles.” It was a blessing to have a sister like Kate. Someone who understood her. Someone who was honest and real, and not afraid to expose her shortcomings; and yet, strong and courageous, too; someone who could withstand the earthquakes of life. Kate would be a comfort if anything should happen to . . . . Virginia couldn’t bring herself to finish the thought, and like the other women, focused her eyes on the nearby head frame and pulley.

  “Tell me about the cave-in,” she said, finally ready to hear the worst.

  “I really don’t know much. Only that Patrick was robbing pillars in one of the breasts deep in the mine. They say there’s so much debris between the gangway and his chamber that they’ve stopped trying to remove it and are now hoping to reach him and the others through one of the monkeyheads.”

  Virginia shuddered. Mother had often talked about the workings of a mine; how it was laid out like an underground city with sometimes as many as ten miles of tunnels winding through it. She had talked about how the miners called the main road or gangway, and even the smaller passageways or monkeyheads, by lovely names such as Apple Orchard or Garden Path. She had even explained how a large mine, like the Mattson, often excavated more than one working face or breast at a time, and how a cave-in could seal off several crews at once. Now, Virginia wished she didn’t know so much. Maybe then she wouldn’t be visualizing Patrick in some dark, dank chamber miles from the shaft and pulley, sealed off from rescue, or perhaps buried beneath the rubble of a collapsed roof. No light, little air, and in pain. Was he is pain? She couldn’t bear the thought. Was he even alive?

  “Oh, Kate, we need to pray.”

  Virginia didn’t know how long she and Kate, and Mother who had joined them, stood huddled together praying, but by the angle of the sun she judged several hours had passed. And just when the backs of Virginia’s legs were beginning to tighten, she heard the creaking of the pulley.

  No one spoke. The entire area was wrapped in silence as the pulley hoisted the large wooden cage through the long shaft. And when it stopped and the wooden gate of the cage opened and a dozen men stepped out, the silence held. Were these rescuers? Survivors? Or both? They were all so dirty. It was hard to tell. One of the men couldn’t walk and was held up by two others who half dragged, half carried him to a group of waiting women, while some outside laborers brought over a plank on which to carry the injured man home.

  Virginia scanned the others who had come up in the cage, her eyes frantically studying each face. “Oh, Kate, I don’t see him,” she whispered as two tired-looking stragglers approached. Oh, how dirty their faces were! How could anyone identify them? But the women knew their men, for at once they hugged and kissed them, and cried with joy. Now, only one man remained, hanging back it seemed, and moving awkwardly. Was he hurt? When she craned her neck to look, her heart stopped. She knew those broad, bulky shoulders, that tilting head, those lumbering hands. Why had it taken her so long to recognize him?

  Without a word, she ran toward him. He was covered with grit. Not one inch remained clean, but Virginia didn’t care. To her, he was the most beautiful sight in the world. When she reached him, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him so fervently it made her breathless.

  “I thought you were dead,” she whispered when she let him go.

  His smudged face held both surprise and delight, and he laughed in a soft muffled tone as though it pained him to do so. “Ah, Jenny, look what you’ve gone and done.” His breath threaded the tendrils of her hair like a soft breeze. “Now the whole world knows you love me, lass; kissin’ me like that in public, and me a decent God-fearin’ man. I suppose the only thing left to be done is marry you. How else is your reputation to be saved?” He pulled her closer, then gave her a lingering kiss that seemed to seal his offer.

  “Decent? God-fearing?” she whispered when they finally parted. “You’re hardly respectable, sir; more of a rake, I’d say.”

  “Darlin’ don’t you know it’s the wild ones that make the best husbands? And just so we’re clear, I’ll be wantin’ my bath water hot and ready on the stove, waitin’ to be poured into our wash tub every night when I come home to you. And maybe I’ll even be comin’ from our own doghole. I’ve been thinkin’ about it for awhile now. With your brains we can surely figure out how to lease one, or perhaps buy it outright, though leasing seems more practical to my way of thinkin’.”

  “You are impertinent,” Virginia said, trying to sound shocked, all the while pleased, especially about his desire to strike out on his own and work what independent miners called a ‘doghole’—a coal seam too small for other, larger operators to mine. It was a way he, too, could be independent and finally employ his skills as a miner; skills that had taken him years to learn. She could see happiness in that.

  “Won’t you tell me you love me, lass? Won’t you say it just once?”

  “Patrick . . . don’t . . . .”

  “Will you at least consider my proposal? For it was real, don’t you know,” his arms encircled her again.

  “Maybe,” she said, hardly abl
e to believe she had promised that much, and suddenly realizing what a spectacle she had made of herself. When she pushed against him to free herself, he moaned. “What is it? Are you hurt?”

  “’Tis only my ribs. I think I have broken one or two.”

  “I’m sure he’s broken more than that,” said a male voice behind her.

  When Virginia turned, she recognized one of the men who had come up in the cage with Patrick. “He saved my life. Pushed me out of the way when the roof started falling, putting himself in harm’s way instead of scrambling to safety. I fear he received poor reward for his trouble, for he was nearly buried alive.” He gave Patrick’s shoulder a pat, then walked off clutching the woman by his side.

  “Oh, Patrick . . . I thought you might be hurt by the way you walked, only I was so happy to see you I didn’t . . . .” She turned and waved for Mother and Kate to come over. “Patrick’s hurt,” she said when they reached her. She ignored the frown on her mother’s face. It was obvious that Mother wasn’t happy by what she had seen.

  Kate quickly opened the large leather pouch and pulled out a jar of salve and some rags.

  “I’ll not have you fussin’ over me, now,” Patrick said, backing away.

  But Mother took hold of his heavy shirt, the kind men wore to withstand the constant forty-eight degree temperature of a mine’s interior. “Let me see your chest.” Her gentle authority seemed to intimidate the normally intimidating Patrick O’Brien, though he continued to protest.

  “You’re not thinkin’ I’ll be undressin’ right here in front of everyone now, are you?”

  Without a word, Mother unfastened the left button of his heavy overalls, allowed it to flap over to one side, then pulled up his shirt a few inches revealing a badly bruised torso. “I’ll bind you. It will help the ribs heal and hopefully keep them from moving and puncturing a lung.”

  Virginia’s breath caught. Puncturing a lung? “Oh, Patrick, please let her do it.”