A Fragile Design (34 page)
‘‘You’re the voice of reason for the Irish, Hugh. Tell them to settle themselves and listen to what Matthew has to say. Matthew knows it’s not the Irish that have caused this upheaval, and he’ll not be speakin’ ill of them.’’
Hugh hesitated for a moment, then spoke to the men. There were a few murmurs of dissent, but the majority of the men appeared relieved they’d not have to do battle this night. They moved forward with Hugh and Liam in the lead until they stood opposite the Yankees.
Matthew stood on the top step of the church, looking down upon the segregated groups and then turned his attention to his fellow Yankees. ‘‘You men have embarrassed yourselves this night with your irrational behavior. I don’t know who or what convinced you to act in such a manner, but I’d appreciate some insight.’’
The men glanced back and forth among themselves until finally one of them confessed that they had expected to find gold and weapons hidden in the church.
‘‘And why on earth would you believe such nonsense? Why would these people be amassing weapons?’’ Matthew questioned.
‘‘We heard talk that the Irish were storin’ up weapons and money in order to attack Lowell and take over the mills,’’ one of the men reported.
‘‘Does that really seem plausible? Knowing that almost all of these men send money back to Ireland to help support their extended families, just how much gold do you think they could accumulate? Someone planted an evil seed among you, and you embraced it. In fact, you watered it and watched it take root. There’s no denying the differences between our people, but attacking one another, destroying property, and believing the worst of each other is not God’s design for us.’’
‘‘You don’t know what they’re capable of,’’ one of the men called out from the Yank side of the group. ‘‘They perform sacrifices and all manner of evil. That’s probably what happened to their missing girls.’’
This created an angry surge of comments from the Irish.
‘‘Ya don’t know what ya’re talkin’ about, Yank.’’
‘‘Ya’re daft in the head. That’s the kind of talk that gets men killed.’’
Matthew raised his hands to calm the crowd. ‘‘You know, you fellows remind me of a story. Once there was a farmer who had a jack mule and a gelding bay. He found it necessary, for the sake of plowing his field, to yoke the two animals together. Each morning he took the animals to the field, where they steadily pulled the plow, until one day he started experiencing problems. The mule wanted to pull left and the gelding wanted to pull right. Try as he might the farmer couldn’t get them to work together. With his field unplowed, the farmer had no choice but to quit for the night and hope he might have better luck the next morning.
‘‘In the meanwhile, the mule and the gelding had their own conversation. The mule told the gelding that he was a horse and horses were notoriously uppity and full of self-regard. The mule said he wasn’t about to work with anyone who lived in a fancy barn and ate from a fancy trough.
‘‘The horse was equally offended. ‘You’re just a lazy mule. You lay about the field all day, eating here and there, never making yourself useful at all until the master actually puts a yoke on you and forces you into work. You’re dirty and smelly and totally useless.’
‘‘The next day, the farmer tried again to put the mule and horse together, but neither one would have any part of it. They bucked and brayed, whinnied and kicked. Finally the farmer had no choice but to take the jack mule back to the barn and then proceed to plow the field with the gelding alone. The horse labored under the strain, and by noon he was spent and the farmer exchanged him for the mule. By night the mule, too, was exhausted.’’
Liam saw that Matthew had the attention of every man in the audience. ‘‘When the mule and horse came together, they realized that their stubbornness had caused them to bear the entire burden of responsibility on their own. There was no one else to share the load, so they pulled the plow alone. And all because they refused to work as a team.’’
‘‘Are you saying the Irish are mules?’’ a man called out.
Liam couldn’t tell if it had been an Irishman or a Yank who’d asked the question. Matthew chuckled. ‘‘Not at all. My father used to tell this story to my brother and me whenever we fought. The whole point I want to make here is that we need not let our cultures and backgrounds separate us. Neither should our religious beliefs and worship practices. If we allow issues to separate us, we’ll be just like the mule and the horse—pulling the full weight of responsibility all alone. We aren’t perfect and neither is religion. God alone is perfect, and He calls us to be at peace with one another. To love our neighbor as ourselves.’’
Liam saw the men around him relax a bit, their expressions conveying a certain understanding. Matthew was smart—Liam had to give him that. He approached these people by bringing something bigger than themselves to the table. Matthew Cheever didn’t bother with threats of the supervisors or the Boston Associates, however. He went straight to the heart of it. He went to God.
‘‘God would see His people work together—to encourage and lift each other up. The Bible says that we should esteem others as better than ourselves. Would you men deny the Word of God—reject its truth?’’
The audience remained completely silent. Matthew nodded. ‘‘I thought not. Now I’d like for all of you to return to your homes. There’s no cache of guns or gold. There are no plans to ruin the church. Go home and sleep off your anger.’’
One by one the crowd dispersed until only Liam, Matthew, and Hugh remained.
‘‘I didn’t think you’d manage to keep the peace here, but I’m glad you did,’’ Hugh commented. ‘‘I’ll bid you good-night and see to it the rabble-rousers get to bed instead of the pub.’’
Liam waited until Hugh had gone before he turned to Matthew. ‘‘It seems that you hold great stock in this issue of God and what He wants for His people.’’
Matthew smiled. ‘‘I do indeed.’’
‘‘And ya’re believin’ that God truly cares about the people on earth—that He’d be listenin’ to our prayers?’’
‘‘I do.’’
Liam shook his head. ‘‘Why? What has God ever done to prove this to ya?’’
‘‘He’s answered my prayers,’’ Matthew replied. ‘‘He’s not always said yes when I’d have liked Him to, but He’s blessed me in many ways, and I honestly believe this is the result of His love and concern for me as an individual.’’
‘‘But why would God be givin’ us any more consideration than He gives the beasties in the field?’’
Matthew smiled. ‘‘I believe the Bible when it says we’re made in God’s image. I believe He did that because He desired fellowship with us, Liam. I believe God desires our love and adoration, our worship and praise. I believe we’re here on this earth to serve Him first and foremost, and the best way we can do that is by serving each other.’’
The words made more sense to Liam than his mother’s superstitions and his church’s threats. ‘‘I’d like to be thinkin’ on this for a time. Do you suppose we might be discussin’ it again?’’ Liam questioned.
Matthew grinned. ‘‘I’d like that very much.’’
Addie’s cheeks were flushed bright pink as she tucked a damp wisp of graying hair behind her ear and hurried from her warm kitchen to the front door. The pounding at the front door was continuous.
‘‘Patience! I’m coming!’’ she called, unable to hide her irritation as she pulled open the door. ‘‘Yes?’’
A small woman with doelike eyes stood clinging to the arm of a stout, dour-appearing man. ‘‘We’re Mr. and Mrs. Wilson—Ruth’s parents,’’ the man said.
‘‘Adelaide Beecher. Pleased to make your acquaintance,’’ Addie replied. ‘‘Please excuse my appearance; I’ve been busy in the kitchen.’’ She stepped aside and gestured them into the foyer. ‘‘We can visit in the parlor,’’ she said, leading the way.
The couple perched side by side on the larger of the two overstuffed settees and stared at Miss Addie. Then Mr. Wilson cleared his throat and leaned forward, his forearms resting upon his bulky thighs. ‘‘What time will our daughter return from the mill?’’ he asked.
Addie’s mouth involuntarily dropped open, and it took a moment for her to regain her deportment. ‘‘The girls will be home in less than an hour. I was busy preparing supper when you arrived,’’ she replied. ‘‘Did someone from the mill contact you?’’ Addie haltingly inquired.
‘‘From the mill? No. Why should someone from the mill contact us? We’re here to fetch Ruth home,’’ Mr. Wilson explained.
Addie stared at them, suddenly unsure how to proceed. Truth was always best, but it was obvious Mr. and Mrs. Wilson were ill prepared for the news she would soon give them. ‘‘Did Ruth write that she wanted to come home?’’ Addie hedged.
‘‘No. Her letters were always quite happy—content, you might say,’’ Mrs. Wilson answered. ‘‘But I need her at home right now. I wrote and told her we’d be coming so she could give her proper notice at work.’’
‘‘I see,’’ Addie replied. She prayed God would give her words to ease the pain these unsuspecting parents would soon feel. ‘‘There is no easy way to tell you this . . .’’ she began.
Like a guard dog hearing an intruder, Mrs. Wilson perked to attention. ‘‘Has something happened to our daughter?’’
‘‘Ruth has disappeared,’’ Addie replied in a hoarse whisper. ‘‘We thought, rather, we wanted to believe that Ruth had returned home. Obviously we were wrong. Ruth has disappeared.’’
Mrs. Wilson’s eyes grew wide. She pounced across the room and grasped Addie’s hand in a death grip. ‘‘What do you mean? How could she disappear?’’ she quizzed, her voice abruptly warbling into a highpitched squeal. But before Addie could answer, the harried woman bounded back across the room to her husband’s side. ‘‘I told you something was wrong.’’ Her accusatory words permeated the room. Mr. Wilson’s stern expression faded in the wake of his wife’s indictment.
‘‘Perhaps you could give us more particulars,’’ Mr. Wilson suggested. He encircled his wife’s shoulder and shushed her as though she were a small child.
Addie nodded. Her gaze remained fixed on Mrs. Wilson as she recounted the few details surrounding Ruth’s disappearance. It seemed a paltry bit of information to give two devastated parents who had come seeking a reunion with their oldest daughter, yet there was nothing more she could add. She said it all in a few brief sentences.
Mr. Wilson’s cold, hard exterior appeared shattered by the details, or lack of them—Addie wasn’t certain which. Mrs. Wilson sat coiled beneath her husband’s protective arm, her eyes glazed with grief.
‘‘Has anyone contacted the police or sheriff?’’ Mr. Wilson questioned.
Addie glanced at Mrs. Wilson. The woman appeared fragile, as though one more gloomy report would shatter her delicate exterior. ‘‘They talked to us, but it is their opinion Ruth ran off with a gentleman friend,’’ Addie replied hesitantly.
Mrs. Wilson slid from under her husband’s protective wing. ‘‘Ruth has a beau? She never mentioned a man in any of her letters.’’
‘‘Well, I didn’t think it was anything serious. He’s a young salesman who called on her when he was in Lowell on business. I believe they went to dinner on a couple of occasions and he visited with her here in the parlor. They may have attended a few church functions, though I’m not altogether certain. I’ve questioned all of the girls who live here. Ruth hadn’t mentioned that she had any plans to elope or that she was even interested in marrying the young man. I told the police I didn’t believe Ruth had run off with him. She’s a bright girl with a good head on her shoulders. Besides, I don’t think she would intentionally worry you.’’
‘‘Nor do I,’’ said Mrs. Wilson. ‘‘Perhaps we need to go and talk to the police,’’ she suggested to her husband.
‘‘I think you should stay here and rest. I’ll go,’’ Mr. Wilson replied. ‘‘I’m sure Miss Beecher wouldn’t mind if you rested in the parlor until I return.’’
‘‘Of course,’’ agreed Addie. ‘‘You’re more than welcome.’’
‘‘No,’’ Mrs. Wilson adamantly replied. The feather decorating her outdated hat danced overhead as she shook her head back and forth. ‘‘I’ll be overly anxious if you insist I remain behind.’’
‘‘As you wish,’’ her husband replied. ‘‘Thank you for your kindness, Miss Beecher.’’
‘‘Will you return after talking with the police? I’d appreciate knowing of any progress.’’
‘‘Yes, we’ll be certain to return,’’ Mrs. Wilson agreed.
Addie fidgeted with her handkerchief as she walked Mr. and Mrs. Wilson to the front door. ‘‘Would you like me to pack Ruth’s belongings so that you may take them home with you?’’ She couldn’t bear to look at Mrs. Wilson while awaiting an answer. ‘‘I hope you’ll forgive me. I realize my question appears insensitive, but the Corporation has advised me they’ll be sending Ruth’s replacement to board with me. The new girl will need space for her belongings.’’
Mr. Wilson glanced toward his wife. ‘‘Thank you for your offer, but we don’t want to impose. We can pack her things,’’ he said.
‘‘Tell you what—if there’s time before you return, I’ll do my best to have things prepared. If not, I’ll help you when you return.’’
‘‘Fair enough,’’ Mr. Wilson replied.
Mrs. Wilson’s dark brown eyes were wet with tears. ‘‘Taking her belongings makes it seem like we’re never going to see her again.’’
‘‘I don’t think that’s true,’’ Addie quickly replied. ‘‘I’m sure Ruth will be in touch with us soon.’’
‘‘I pray she will,’’ Mrs. Wilson whispered.
Addie watched the Wilsons walk down the street, her gaze turning heavenward when they turned the corner and were out of sight. The clouds were hanging low and gray, hiding any patch of blue from sight. It might rain after all, she decided, closing the front door and then scuttling off to the kitchen. She’d best hurry or supper wouldn’t be on the table when the girls arrived home.
Working with diligence, Addie carved generous pieces of ham and arranged them on a platter. Fortuitously, she’d placed the kettle of potatoes to boil over a low fire before the Wilsons’ arrival and had set the table after the noonday dishes had been washed and dried, a timesaving trick Lilly Cheever had taught her years ago. It wouldn’t take long to cream the potatoes with some nice fresh peas she’d shelled early this morning, and she’d open several jars of her canned apples. The girls liked them sprinkled with a dash of cinnamon and nutmeg.
