The Daughters of Jim Farrell

by Sylvia Bambola

  So the three stood in a huddle while Patrick unfastened his other button, and held the overalls around his waist with one hand and his rolled up shirt with the other, and allowed Mother, using a long wide strip of clean cloth, to bind his ribcage. He groaned whenever she wound it too tight, but the smile never left his face, nor did his eyes leave Virginia’s.

  When Mother finished, and Patrick put himself in order, he tipped his cap. “Thank you, ma’am. You’re very kind. I believe it feels better already.”

  “Stop your foolish talk. I know you’re in pain,” Mother said with a sweet smile. “It will be difficult, since you’ll not want to lose the pay, but you shouldn’t work for awhile. It’s important to keep as still as possible and allow those ribs to heal. You’re not out of danger yet, Patrick. I’ve seen this before. Men going back into the mine too soon after an injury, and it killing them. And I know you’ve seen it, too.”

  Patrick replaced his cloth cap. “I’ll best be goin’ now and gettin’ washed up, and maybe even rest a spell. You’re right, ma’am, I am a wee bit sore. But I’m much obliged to you all for comin’ and for your help.” His large hand encircled Virginia’s upper arm as he spoke. “Would you mind me speakin’ with Jenny for a moment?” And before anyone could answer, he pulled Virginia away to a distant spot.

  “Quick, now, Patrick,” Virginia said in a low voice as she stood beside him, his hand still clutching her arm. “Just say what you want before you scare Mother and Kate into coming over here.”

  Patrick drew Virginia closer as though not wanting anyone to hear. “I know who killed Mr. Blakely, but I won’t be tellin’ you now. I learned this yesterday, and only by chance. I saw somethin’ . . . then I knew.”

  “What! Who . . .?”

  Patrick gently laid a blackened finger across Virginia’s lips. “I said I wasn’t tellin’. So don’t be askin’. Me and him already had a talk, and I think it only right to give him a chance to turn himself in like a man.” He smiled and put his face closer to Virginia’s. “I know your mind, lass, regardin’ the law and all. But I won’t be moved. I’m givin’ him his week, like I promised. If he doesn’t do right, then I’ll call in the police.”

  Virginia was so stunned all she could do was nod.

  “Maybe it’s best you don’t tell your family, or anyone else for that matter, ‘til I can settle this.” With that, he scooped Virginia up in his arms, kissed her fully on the mouth, released her, then walked away whistling a tune Virginia had never heard before.

  She stood watching him go. Could it be true? Did Patrick really know who killed Mr. Blakely? The thought frightened her. Wouldn’t this knowledge put him in danger? And would he really be able to force the killer to turn himself in? But as she watched him disappear, a different question crowded out the rest: Oh, why hadn’t she told Patrick she loved him?

  CHAPTER 9

  “I still can’t believe you accused Martin Roach of murder!”

  Kate ignored Joshua’s scowl as she took the damask-covered chair beside him, then smoothed the skirt of her green linen day dress. She had taken pains with her appearance; had even dabbed two drops of her precious Parisian perfume behind each ear in hopes of distracting Joshua and blunting his expected rebuke. And while this all seemed to disarm him when he first entered the room, she could tell by his face it had not altered his serious frame of mind.

  She had invited him here, to the back parlor, so they could talk. She had to remove the barrier that existed between them, a barrier as hard and cold as Mother’s prize ice box. They hadn’t spoken since Joshua’s return from the Reading headquarters in Philadelphia when he managed to share his findings in a semi-civilized manner despite learning of her indiscretion. And for the past week she had missed his friendliness and the pleasant conversations they once had.

  “I know everyone believes I went on a fool’s errand, and perhaps they’re right but. . . .”

  “Perhaps? Kate, why do you still refuse to admit your blunder; to admit your utter irresponsible behavior?”

  Kate stiffened. She had known his scrutiny would be painful, but she had not expected to feel like that little girl who had, on many occasions, sat in this room, on this very chair, while being scolded by her father for some transgression. But truth had always been her ally, and she wouldn’t abandon it now. “The thought of Father dying because of Martin Roach’s greed was more than I could bear. And yes, I admit I was rash, but the incident was not without profit. Martin Roach may be a lying swindler, as your findings prove, but I don’t think he had anything to do with Rodger Blakely’s death.”

  “I have enough on Mr. Roach, on his manipulation of colliery prices and forged contracts, to put him behind bars for years. But even this wouldn’t satisfy you unless you truly believed what you said.”

  “I do believe it. He was nervous and fearful as one who had something to hide. But he was startled by my accusation of murder; so utterly shocked, in fact, that I’m certain it left him little presence of mind to fake a response. Therefore, I must believe his reaction genuine.”

  “Well . . . I suppose that’s something. But see here, Kate . . . that still doesn’t excuse your behavior.”

  “I know.” She reached over and took his hand. “And you are the one who most deserves my apology. My bullying forced you to reveal information you were not ready to reveal. On top of that, you asked me to honor your confidence by not making it public.” She bit her lip when she felt the tears welling. A woman’s tears most always brought a man to his knees. But she was determined not to resort to them no matter how difficult. A pretty dress and a bit of perfume was one thing, but tears . . . no, she’d bear the full brunt of his well-deserved anger without tears. “You trusted me to keep this confidence, and I violated that trust. For that I ask your forgiveness.”

  “I’ve already forgiven you, so, if you think I’m still angry about that, you’re wrong. But what bothers me, what is a most serious problem . . . .”

  “I love you, Joshua.” She could almost hear the pounding of her heart. How she had the courage to say that, then look him in the eye, she didn’t know. “I just wanted to tell you before you continued and I lost my nerve. I know you are a man of logic while I am more . . . emotional. I also know I’m not perfect, but . . . .”

  “You’re wonderful, Kate.” His hand tightened around hers. “And you well know my feelings. I’ve made no secret of them. But it’s not your basic imperfections that worry me, though I see few. What worries me is the unforgiveness in your heart. Sometimes it spills into your eyes, your voice. I know it’s because of your father’s death. I’ve seen this with other victims of crime. But what you don’t understand is that unforgiveness is just as destructive, just as hurtful, as crime itself. And the one who harbors it, ends by making himself its victim. Until you’re able to forgive the people of this town, I fear you’ll never be free to truly love anyone.”

  “You say that after my shameless profession?” Kate felt her cheeks burn.

  “I say it because I’ve seen enough of the world to know love can’t coexist with bitterness. In the end, bitterness will choke out the most fervent love, even the kind of love I have for you. You must resolve this, Kate, if we’re to have any future together.”

  Kate pulled her hand away. “Then pray for me, Joshua, for I can’t forgive the town’s people for executing my father.”

  Before Joshua could respond, the parlor door flew open and there stood Virginia, as white as one of their bed sheets, clutching a piece of brown paper.

  “A coffin notice. Mr. Thumbolt found it folded beneath a rock, right on our front step! And I think it’s meant for me.”

  Kate rushed to the door and took the paper from Virginia’s trembling hand. Joshua had come too, and stood beside her while she read. “Stop pryin if yu no whats gud for yu.” Below that was a crude drawing of a woman hanging at the end of a rope, an open coffin near her feet.r />
  “Who could have sent such a thing?” Virginia said.

  “Martin Roach. And I don’t believe it was meant for you at all, Virginia, but for me.”

  The look on Joshua’s face was one of utter desperation as he tugged on Kate’s arm. “Don’t even think about . . . .”

  “I won’t do anything without telling you first. I give you my word.”

  Charlotte couldn’t stand it—the whole house being in an uproar, and Mother, Kate and Virginia all walking around with frowns. Even the boarders were out of sorts. And it left Charlotte, who seldom did well in a crisis, unable to keep her mind focused on any one thing for long. Oh what a hateful note. What kind of person would leave such a thing on their front step? And, oh, what bedlam it had caused. Two mornings in a row breakfast had been late, and one dinner, too. And on laundry day, the beds in all the downstairs bedchambers had been overlooked and never changed. And it took a full day for anyone to notice the oversight.

  Now, thoughts of Kate and Virginia kept swirling around in Charlotte’s head. Each of her sisters believed the coffin notice was meant for them. Charlotte didn’t know what to believe. She only knew she couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to either of them. And it was plain Mother was worried, too. Mother, who was always so strong and dependable, now seemed as flustered as a school girl. And this unnerved Charlotte all the more. But what could be done? What could any of them do, being mere women? She stopped and thought of Betsy Mills. No, she wouldn’t put it that way. Women could be strong, too. But wasn’t it the role of a man to protect? And where were they? Colonel Smyth was the best they had, and he was well advanced in years. The other men in their boardinghouse, including Joshua Adams—for all his youth and swagger—didn’t inspire Charlotte’s confidence one bit.

  She sighed and ran her fingers across the velvet curtain, inspecting it for holes. When at last she found one, she draped the curtain over others requiring mending, then returned to the work table she had set up in the back parlor. Mother had instructed her to inspect all the heavy curtains before taking down the lighter drapes. She plucked another velvet panel from the pile and smelled the tobacco that had been sprinkled among the folds to discourage moths. It was still strong after all these months in an attic trunk and she found the smell unpleasant.

  “You have a visitor,” Kate said, suddenly entering the parlor. “Benjamin Gaylord is here. Shall I let him in or tell him you are indisposed?”

  Charlotte dropped the curtain then fingered her hair. “How can I see him now? When I look so dreadful? Oh no, Kate, send him away, please.”

  “You look lovely, as usual. You needn’t fear on that account. But if you wish, I’ll make your apologies.”

  “Do . . . I? Do I really look all right? I know I shouldn’t be so concerned about my appearance, considering what’s going on around here, but please don’t laugh at me, Kate. I know I’m a silly creature.”

  To Charlotte’s surprise, Kate walked over and gave her a hug. “I’m not laughing, dearest. And you’re not silly at all. You are, in fact, a sweet, gracious woman.”

  “Oh . . . my . . . well . . . thank you.” She couldn’t remember the last time Kate had been this complimentary.

  “So what would you like me to do?”

  “Is it urgent do you think? Does he look upset? It must be important or he would never have come. Maybe I should see him. But how can I? Like this? Oh, dear . . . .”

  “I’ve already told him we have begun our fall cleaning.” She gestured to her own soiled apron and the rag in her hand. “He won’t expect to see you in a ball gown.”

  Charlotte laughed. “Of course you’re right, Kate. Send him in. Let me get it over with, otherwise I’ll be thinking about it for the rest of the day.”

  Without a word, Kate disappeared, and within seconds ushered Benjamin Gaylord into the room, then quietly left.

  Charlotte remained standing by the work table, still wearing her apron. She had briefly debated whether or not to remove it, then decided to leave it on. Let him see her at her worst. He already thought poorly of her. Why help him change that opinion? But as soon as she looked at Benjamin’s kind face, Charlotte wished she had.

  “Please sit,” she said, removing the curtains from the damask-covered chair and draping them across the back of the old wooden rocker.

  He was finely dressed as usual, with his hair and beard neatly groomed, but his face, his eyes . . . something was different. And instead of taking the empty damask-covered chair, he removed the sewing box from the one next to it, placed it on the small end table, then gestured with his hand, “After you.”

  So Charlotte took one seat while he took the other.

  “I’ve heard about the note you received, the coffin notice, and I am dreadfully concerned.”

  “Bad news certainly travels fast! We’ve barely read the note ourselves and it seems the entire Schuylkill County knows about it. But you need not be fearful on my account. I don’t believe it was meant for me at all.” She narrowed her eyes like Kate was prone to do and wondered if it would have the same effect.

  “But I am fearful. I’m afraid for you and your family. That’s why I’ve come. I desire to be of service. If you’ll permit me, and not think me too bold, I’d like to hire half a dozen men to guard you and your family. They’ll remain outside, of course, surrounding the house, but will accompany you or your mother and sisters wherever you need to go. Will you allow me to do this?” His hand trembled as he fingered his beard. “I shall have no peace unless you do.”

  “Why would my welfare or that of my family’s concern you? Or rob you of a moment’s peace? And why aren’t you on your way to England? Is this some cruel masquerade, a pretext you’ve devised so you can come and gloat over the fact that, once again, my family is the talk of the town, and we are embroiled in yet another difficulty?”

  “How can I leave now? With this going on? When you could be in danger? Oh, Charlotte, believe me I think only of you . . . and your family. Please understand that my errand is not one of censure. And when have you ever known me to be cruel or gloat? Over yours or anyone else’s misfortune? Do you think so ill of me?” He looked away. “I . . . that is . . . you have every right to despise me, and I’ll not try to change your opinion. Only allow me this one thing. Forgive my speaking so freely, Charlotte, but I know your family can’t afford to hire protection, while I am well able to do so. If any harm should befall you, and I’ve failed to do my best to prevent it, I . . . I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.”

  Charlotte’s heart thumped. Was it possible? Was it possible that . . . he loved her still? She balled her damp hands into a fist. No. This wasn’t love but rather a matter of satisfaction—the satisfaction of a wealthy man coming to the aid of the poor unfortunate trouble-prone Farrells. Her back stiffened. “You are most gracious, but I hardly think your mother would approve, and she’ll certainly resent you being thrust into this situation. It’s best you distance yourself from this matter at once.”

  “My mother knows my feelings. I’ve laid them out to her in a telegram. Would you like me to tell you what it said?”

  “If you wish.” Charlotte folded her hands so tightly her nails whitened.

  “That is not what I asked. Do you, Charlotte, want to know what I said?”

  Charlotte studied Benjamin’s grim face and knew, by it, the importance of her answer. “Yes,” she finally said, “I’d like to know.”

  Benjamin appeared relieved. “What I told her was that I had recently learned of our family’s history, and given these facts I would consider myself fortunate if someone as remarkable as you would ever allow me a second chance. I also told her that if you didn’t, I would spend the rest of my days in misery since truly you are the only woman I want to marry.”

  For a moment, Charlotte couldn’t catch her breath. When she was finally able to compose herself, she rose to her f
eet. “You were always a gentleman, Benjamin. And I accept your sincere offer of help. When can I expect your security force?”

  Benjamin had risen, too. “I plan to interview these men myself; make certain they are of the proper sort. But I believe I can have a suitable team here within two days.”

  “Then I’ll inform my mother and sisters so they won’t be alarmed when strange men begin surrounding the house. Thank you for your kindness. I bid you good day.” As Benjamin bent to kiss her hand she leaned closer. “And since I have no wish for you to spend the rest of your days in misery, perhaps you can join me for tea next week as we endeavor to rekindle our friendship. It is a good place to start.”

  “I . . . I shall look forward to it.” He bowed then walked to the door and turned. “But please know . . . my affection for you needs no rekindling for it is as ardent as ever.” With that he exited the room, leaving Charlotte overcome by this sudden turn of events.

  Virginia tucked the crumpled coffin notice into the bodice of her soiled work dress and slipped out the kitchen door leading to the back yard. She was glad Mother and Charlotte were busy at the stove where pots boiled and plumes of steam dampened the rafters. She was also grateful that Kate was in the dining room setting the table, and that dinner was going to be late again tonight. Ever since the coffin notice, nothing seemed to be on schedule. But it meant that everyone would be too busy to concern themselves about her. And hadn’t Mother told her to finish washing that last window in order to complete the chore she had been engaged in most of the day? It was all working to her advantage.

  But it got dark earlier now, and the angle of the sun told her the breaker whistle would be blowing soon. There was no time to waste. This morning, with great fan-fare, Charlotte announced that the security force Benjamin Gaylord had promised two days earlier would finally arrive tomorrow. That meant, after today, meeting Patrick O’Brien, unobserved, would no longer be possible.