Tracie Peterson & Judith Miller - [Lights of Lowell 01] (33 page)

‘‘I see you have finally taken me seriously,’’ Bradley said, slurring his words badly. No doubt he’d been into his drink this night.

‘‘May God ’ave mercy on yar black soul,’’ Kiara said, scooting up against the wall. ‘‘May ya rot in hell for yar sins.’’

He laughed even as he removed his jacket and began unbuttoning his waistcoat. ‘‘I’m already in hell,’’ he replied. ‘‘There’s nothing more God can do to me. But there’s plenty more
I
can do. Especially—’’ he cast aside his waistcoat, then sat down on the single rickety chair and pulled at his boots—‘‘especially to you.’’

He grinned wickedly, his eyes narrowing.

When he finally left her room, Kiara was buried deep under the covers. Just as she had listened to him make his ascent to her room, she now heard his heavy footsteps descend the staircase. Bitter tears spilled down her cheeks and her body quaked in heaving sobs as she raised a defiant fist from beneath the covers and cried toward heaven: ‘‘Why don’t ya just kill me if ya care nothin’ about what’s happenin’ in this place? Or must I do that fer meself also?

Is that what ya’re wantin’ from me, God—that I just kill meself and be done with it?’’ Memories of her mother’s admonition that even thinking such thoughts could send her to hell, gave Kiara pause.

Her tears and anger slowly ebbed into the pool of darkness that permeated the room, and for the first time she contemplated death at her own hand. It would be so simple. There were many ways she could attend to the task. Yet when all was said and done, she knew such a feat would prove impossible, for that would leave Paddy alone in the world to fend for himself. And that was a consequence she’d not force him to bear. Nor did she wish to bear further consequences—not in this life or the next.

‘‘My life is over,’’ she whispered into the shroud of blackness.

‘‘There’s no man who would ever be wantin’ the likes of me now—especially a man such as Rogan, with his dreams for a future on a beautiful farm out West.’’

C
HAPTER
•
23

K
IARA WATCHED
in delight from the upstairs window as Bradley handed his satchel to the driver and stepped up into the carriage.

Finally he would be gone, and she could go and visit Bridgett on Sunday—and perhaps see Rogan. The thought caused an unexpected smile to tug at her lips. Though she feared there’d be no future for them, Kiara took a moment’s pleasure in imagining it just the same. She might as well allow herself to dream—after all, there wasn’t anything else she could hope for. As soon as the carriage pulled away from the house, she hurried to Jasmine’s room and knocked on the door.

‘‘Are ya ready fer me to fix yar hair, ma’am?’’

‘‘Yes, come in.’’

Kiara carefully brushed and twisted her mistress’s hair into the parted and curled fashion Jasmine particularly liked. ‘‘I was wonderin’ if I could plan on visitin’ Bridgett on Sunday.’’

‘‘Oh, I’m afraid not, Kiara. Bradley will be gone only until Thursday. His plans changed. I’m so sorry. I know I had promised you could go and visit Bridgett.’’

‘‘I understand. Ya’ve no control over such things, ma’am.’’

Jasmine brightened and took Kiara’s hand in her own. ‘‘I know! You can go tomorrow afternoon.’’

‘‘Bridgett will be at work, ma’am. I suppose I could visit with Bridgett’s granna, though. If I can na see Bridgett, ’twould be nice to see Granna. Yes, I’ll go and see her. Thank ya fer yar kindness.’’

After bidding Paddy farewell, Kiara hurried off toward the Acre the next afternoon. She knew the boy longed to come with her, but the horses would need his care, and he dared not leave them unattended.

Jasmine had asked her to stop at Mrs. Paxton’s on her way home to pick up a package. She’d even given her coins for more thread since Mrs. Wainwright had already sold a lace-edged handkerchief to one of her socialite friends in Boston, who was now anxious for more. Kiara had carefully tucked away the money and continued diligently working on the lace during her free moments. It was only after seeing the amount of money people were willing to pay for her lace that Kiara began to think of a plan.

If she could save her coins, she’d take Paddy and run from this place, servitude papers or not—she’d take her chances with the law. She’d not be able to stay in the Acre, of that she was certain, for the Acre would be the first place Mr. Houston would come looking for her. Living in the Acre with Bridgett and Granna Murphy close at hand was Kiara’s desire, but with many Irish immigrants living in Boston, she could surely become acquainted with some of them. Besides, relocating to a larger city would reduce her chances of being discovered.

Kiara arrived in the Acre well before the final bell would toll at the mills. She knocked on the door, expecting to be greeted by Granna Murphy. Instead, Rogan Sheehan welcomed her with a big grin and a hearty greeting. ‘‘Come on in, lass. Granna’s busy preparin’ supper. How is it ya managed to make yar way to the Acre on a weekday?’’

Kiara explained Bradley’s change in plans. ‘‘I knew Bridgett would still be at the mills, but I thought ’twould be nice to visit with Granna, and I’m hopin’ I might have a few minutes with Bridgett before I must leave.’’

Rogan folded his arms across his broad chest, his dark blue eyes alight with an uninhibited cheerfulness. ‘‘What a disappointment this has turned out ta be. Here I thought ya were comin’ ta see me, and now I find ’tis only the womenfolk ya’re wantin’ to visit.’’

She giggled at his response. ‘‘I’m happy to see anyone with a bit o’ Irish blood.’’

‘‘Then ya come to the right place,’’ Granna Murphy said while wiping her hands on a worn cotton apron. ‘‘Come over here and give me a hug.’’

Kiara hurried into the old woman’s arms, delighting in the warmth of the embrace. ‘‘It’s good to see you, Granna. I told Rogan I had hoped to come on Sunday, but it appears that won’t be happenin’.’’

‘‘We’ll be thankful fer what little time ya get with us. Come on into the kitchen. Ya can be stayin’ for supper and visit with Bridgett, and we’ll have us a fine time, Sunday or not.’’

‘‘I do na know if I can stay. I’m supposed to pick up a package for the missus, and I told Paddy I’d spend time with him when I came home. I wanted to leave before his chores were done, so he could na come along.’’

Rogan sat down on one of the wooden chairs and pushed back until he was balancing the chair on the two back legs. ‘‘Once ya think Paddy’s had enough time to finish with his chores, we can go back through town and get yar supplies and then go to the house and get him. Do ya think the missus would let ya come back if ya told her I’d walk ya back home?’’

Kiara’s heart pounded with excitement. ‘‘I think she’d agree.’’

‘‘Then it’s settled. After a spell we’ll go and get Paddy, and by the time we return, Bridgett will be home and supper will be ready.’’

‘‘But first sit a spell and visit with me,’’ Granna said, pointing to a chair.

Kiara sat down and pulled a piece of lace from her small tapestry bag. ‘‘I hope you do na mind if I work on my lace while we talk.’’

Granna’s eyes danced with mischief. ‘‘Ya’re an industrious young lass. Would ya be makin’ yarself a weddin’ veil?’’

‘‘Ah, don’ ya be givin’ the lass ideas afore I get a chance to win her heart,’’ Rogan teased.

Granna waved her arm as if to shoo him out of the room. ‘‘Go on with ya, Rogan. Ya’re na lookin’ for a wife.’’

‘‘I’m always lookin’ for a lass ta marry me, Granna. I just have na found the right one.’’

‘‘And likely never will,’’ the old woman replied. ‘‘Quit yar teasin’ and let me visit with the lass.’’ Granna turned her attention back to Kiara. ‘‘That’s a pretty pattern ya’re making, and fine work ya do.’’ She lifted one edge of the lace and examined it.

Kiara smiled, basking in the compliment of the old Irish woman. ‘‘The missus asked me to make lace cuffs for her mum for her birthday. I’m wantin’ them to be special. Do ya think she’ll like the wild roses I’ve formed into the lace?’’

‘‘Sure and she’ll be likin’ it, lass. ’Tis a bit of beauty ya’re creating. Bridgett used to like to make the lace too, but since she’s begun workin’ in the mills, there’s nothin’ much she’s wantin’ to do when she gets home but sleep. They’re workin’ long hours, and short of help they are in the mills.’’

‘‘If I could be spendin’ me time workin’ in the mills, I’d na be complainin’ about anything.’’

‘‘Ah, lass, ya do na know what ya’re saying. Ya have the freedom to move about and go outside when ya’re wantin’ to; ya can work in a fine house and not a lint-filled room with the windows nailed down—ya should na be thinkin’ ya’re unhappy in such a fine place.’’

Kiara could not share the thoughts flashing through her mind—thoughts of the five years she’d have to suffer at the hands of Bradley Houston—so she offered no rebuttal to Granna’s argument. ‘‘Aye, and now with all the girls fallin’ ill, I worry that our Bridgett will get the sickness. She’s worn herself down with all the extra looms she must tend, and she dare na miss a day or there’s the devil to pay.’’

‘‘I heard a bit o’ talk about sickness in the mills when some ladies came for tea, but I was helpin’ in the kitchen and did na think it was more than a few girls suffering from a stomach ailment or the sniffles. So there’s more to the tale?’’

‘‘Aye, and I’m wishin’ I could be tellin’ ya what’s causin’ the illness, but it seems ta be striking workers in all of the mills.

There’s been three or four die, all but one of ’em Irish lasses.’’

Kiara gasped and covered her mouth with her open palm.

‘‘That’s terrible news, Granna. It’s an ill wind that’s blowin’ over the Irish. Seems we can na escape the cold hand of death.’’

‘‘Aye, ’tis true. We’re a people created fer sufferin’ and that’s a fact.’’

Rogan jumped up from his chair and ran his fingers through the thick dark fringe of curls that covered his forehead. ‘‘I’ll na be listenin’ ta such sorrowful talk. ’Tis a fine day, and we should be countin’ our blessings instead of sittin’ here and mopin’ about. I’m gonna go and see if Michael O’Donnell and Timothy Clary will gather up some fiddle players, and we’ll have us a time of singin’ and dancin’ out in the street after supper.’’ He started toward the door and called over his shoulder, ‘‘I’ll be back to fetch ya in a short time, lass.’’

‘‘I think the lad’s got an eye fer ya,’’ Granna Murphy confided when Rogan had cleared the doorway.

‘‘But ya said he’s a lad with a wanderin’ eye.’’

Granna looked up from the pot of stew she was stirring, her lips curving into a sly smile. ‘‘Aye, but when the right lass comes along, he’ll settle.’’

‘‘He’ll likely find the right lass afore I’ve completed my five years of servitude, so we best quit our talkin’ about ’im.’’

‘‘Ya might consider visitin’ the church more often and gettin’ down on yar knees, lass. The Lord knows what’s happenin’ in yar life, and He’s watchin’ over ya.’’

‘‘He was na watchin’ over my ma or my pa when they died.

And if He cared about me at all, I would na be livin’ where I am.

I do na think a prayer or two is gonna get the Lord on my side.’’

‘‘I know ya’re unhappy, lass, but do na be blamin’ yar troubles on the Lord. It’s the devil roamin’ around causin’ us misery at every turn. And ya can be sure the devil’s likin’ it a heap if he can keep ya from prayin’.’’

Rogan burst through the door, waving a fiddle in the air. ‘‘I’ve taken Timothy Clary’s fiddle hostage and told him he’ll na get it returned unless he fiddles fer us tonight.’’

‘‘Ya’re a rascal if ever I saw one,’’ Granna scolded.

‘‘Aye, that I am. Are ya ready to fetch yar supplies, lass?’’

Kiara nodded and hurried to join him. She kept up with his long-legged stride, taking two steps to his one, and listened to his easy monologue regarding his life in Lowell and the Acre.

‘‘So if it’s such a fine job ya have with Liam Donohue, why are ya sittin’ about at home today?’’ she finally asked.

He gave her a lopsided grin and her stomach flip-flopped.

‘‘Ya’re full of sassy questions, ain’t ya, lass? Well, I’ll have ya ta know that I been workin’ from dawn to late into the night for nigh unto a month now completin’ a fine piece o’ work, and Liam saw fit to repay me with a few days to enjoy meself. We begin work Monday on another job that will keep me mighty busy too.’’

‘‘I’ve heard that name before,’’ she said, thinking for a moment.

‘‘I’m thinkin’ his wife was at the tea. Would that be possible?

Though I do na think she was Irish.’’

‘‘Aye, she’s a Yank—but a fine one fer sure. I been told some of the fine folks do na like her since she married an Irishman. Liam says she has a deep faith and believes what the Bible says. He says she lives her beliefs and does na concern herself with what other people think.’’

‘‘Good for her.’’ She opened the door of Paxton’s and started inside. ‘‘Aren’t you coming?’’

‘‘Most of these shop owners do na like Irish inside. They don’t mind when it’s a lass who works for a Yank, but they’d rather the rest of us stay away. I’d rather spend my coins in the Acre anyway.

Ya go on and make yar purchases, and I’ll be waitin’ right here when ya come out.’’

Kiara pulled out the note and handed it to Mrs. Paxton. ‘‘I’ll go and get my thread while you fill the order,’’ she told the storekeeper.

Mrs. Paxton was wrapping several bottles in heavy brown paper when Kiara returned with the thread. ‘‘Is that medicine you’re wrapping for the missus?’’ she asked.

Mrs. Paxton peered over the top of her glasses and down her pointy nose. ‘‘If your mistress wanted you to know what was in the package, she would have told you instead of sending me a sealed note.’’

Ignoring the acerbic remark, Kiara dug into her pocket and placed several coins on the counter. ‘‘Here’s fer the thread.’’ She took up the parcel and thread and headed for the door.
Just because
I’m Irish is no reason to go bein’ all uppity
. She would have loved to have spoken the words aloud.

‘‘Let me carry that fer ya,’’ Rogan offered.

The kindness of his gesture delighted her. As she handed him the package, sadness came creeping in without warning, replacing her joy. Determinedly, she pushed it away. At least for this brief time, she would take pleasure in her life. There was no hope that she and Rogan could have a life together. He was a fine God-fearing man, and he would expect a woman of virtue and purity.