Together Apart Page 5

Mr. Tinka came up to me then, his fiddle and bow tucked under his arm. "Play," he said, offering up my harmonica. I was about to tell him I didn't dare when Eliza said, "There's a bit of chill to the air tonight. The townsfolk will have their windows closed, and the sheriff lives way over on the other side of town. Your choice, but I think it's safe."

  "After you," I said to Mr. Tinka.

  He drew his bow across the strings and began to play. I listened for a bit, to catch the rhythm, then put my harmonica to my mouth and joined in, making up my part as I went along. Before long, Rosa began to dance around the fire. One arm above her head, the other across her waist, fingers clicking in time. Then Mrs. Tinka and the young ones started in dancing, too. Eliza, who'd been swaying along with the music, threw up her hands and said, "Oh, why not," and then joined the others, leaving Hannah the only one not letting the music move her. Eliza tried to fix that. She sashayed over to where Hannah stood and took up one of her hands. Hannah did take a couple of steps forward, did begin move in a way that wasn't quite a dance but wasn't scarecrow-stiff either. The fire's glow lit Hannah's face, and I thought I saw a flicker of the old Hannah in her eyes. But the flicker didn't last. All of a sudden, Hannah jerked away from Eliza and headed, half running, half stumbling, for the house. I bolted after her.

  Hannah

  WHEN ISAAC CAUGHT UP TO ME ON THE STAIRS, HIS FACE WAS the picture of concern. I tried to reassure him that I wasn't troubled, only in need of sleep, like he'd said earlier. This was partly true. It had been a long and troubling day: Mama apologizing to Eliza for the state of her housekeeping, the simpleness of the meal; Papa turning his back when I offered him the three-dollar wage Eliza had so generously given me; Hester and Lila so full of questions; a Sabbath spent telling half-truths so as not to reveal that Isaac and I were working together, living in the same house.

  "There's no sin in having a little fun," Isaac said.

  "My brothers aren't having any fun, are they?" I was sorry as soon as I said that, sorry for snapping at the one person who understood, the one person who would never snap back. I locked my heart against any but friendlike feelings toward Isaac, took his hand and squeezed it. I turned away from him then and finished climbing the stairs. I was afraid he'd follow, or maybe I hoped he'd follow, but he didn't, and soon the fiddle playing began anew—soft and slow as a kitten's purr.

  In my room, I settled on the floor at the base of the window. Rosa, keeping time to the slower tempo, danced in a less frenzied way. Arms raised, head thrown back, she swayed and dipped as if a ribbon caught up in a gentle wind. I couldn't bear to watch, to remember the times I'd moved my own body in a similar way, so I turned my attention to Isaac. Campfire shadows played on his face and lighted his eyes. The lock on my heart fell away, and I felt the same warm feeling I'd felt when we'd held each other during the blizzard, a feeling no decent girl should have when her brothers are dying. Shame was my bed partner that night.

  ***

  When I woke the next morning the Tinkas were gone. I was sorry for this because I'd wanted to apologize for my rude behavior of the night before. Over breakfast, Eliza shared that the Tinkas were travelers, never staying long in one place, in part because their different ways often made them unwelcome, in part because they preferred the freedom of their way of life.

  After breakfast, Eliza set off for Main Street, a stack of handbills tucked into her market basket. Isaac headed straightaway for the print shop, where he began to prepare the press for the latest edition of the Women's Gazette.

  I divided my time that morning between the resting room and Eliza's laundry. Monday also being wash day for most farm women, I'd cautioned Eliza not to be disappointed if no one came.

  Doing up the wash at Eliza's was no work at all because Eliza had the most modern of washing machines. The boiling water, soap flakes, soiled clothing, and linens went into a footed tub, attached to which was a levered arm I simply cranked a hundred times back and forth. Isaacs socks were a challenge, though. They smelled so bad I had to run them through the wash three times.

  After pegging Isaac's wet things to a line in the cellar, I was carrying the laundry basket to the clothesline in the back yard when hoof beats clattered the brick drive. I hurried into and through the resting room, reaching the drive-side door just as old Mr. Zeller was helping his wife, Flossy, down from the wagon. Before he went on about his business, Mr. Zeller gave Flossy a peck on the cheek.

  I showed Flossy around the resting room, pointing out the bookshelves, the stack of gazettes, and the indoor necessary, where she excused herself. While she was otherwise occupied, I tapped a warning signal on the door leading to the print shop. Three taps meant there were visitors about, that Isaac shouldn't show his face or work the press. Two taps meant the coast was clear. A single tap meant that Isaac should unlatch the door and let Eliza or myself inside.

  When Flossy came out of the indoor necessary, she smiled and said, "Never thought I'd live long enough to use one of those. Sure would come in handy in the winter, wouldn't it?"

  "Yes, ma'am, very handy."

  "Would it be okay if I helped myself to one of those rocker chairs?"

  "Of course. Think of the resting room as your home away from home."

  When Flossy was seated, she removed her knitting from the cloth bag she always carried. "Figured I might as well bring my work with me," she said, her needles rat-a-tatting.

  "Is there anything else I can do to make your stay more comfortable?" I asked.

  "Thank you, but I have everything I need. Now you go on about your chores. I'll not have you fussing over me."

  I excused myself and returned to my laundry basket. Eliza joined me just as I'd pegged the last of the wash to the line. She nearly broke into a run when I told her our first visitor had arrived. In the resting room, we found Flossy still in the rocking chair, her chin resting on her chest, fast asleep, though her nap didn't last long.

  "Yoo hoo," a woman's voice called.

  Eliza and I spun around. A smartly dressed woman stood just inside the door.

  "Good day, Mrs. Callahan," Eliza said in a tight voice. "To what do I owe the honor of your visit?"

  "I read your handbill down at Fowler's Emporium, and I thought I'd stop by to ask if the ladies of the Betterment Society might be of help. I'd offer to help you myself, but my sister, who lives in one of the finest neighborhoods in Philadelphia, has taken ill, and I'm leaving on the first train out tomorrow."

  "That's a very generous offer, but I don't think we'll need any assistance at this time. Hannah here is my partner, and she's done a wonderful job."

  Mrs. Callahan looked me up and down, but her eyes didn't stay on me for long. The bustle beneath her skirts bobbing with each step she took, she headed for the bookshelves. When she tilted her head to read the titles, her wide-brimmed, feathered hat nearly toppled. And when her eyes landed on the stack of gazettes, she didn't waste any time snatching one up. "Is there a charge?" she asked, turning to Eliza.

  "Ten cents, as is clearly printed in bold type."

  "Oh, dear, I'm afraid I left home without my coin purse. I'll just take this with me and send my daughter, Drucilla, over with the price later today."

  Just then a thump echoed from behind the print shop door. Mrs. Callahan's eyes swiveled to that direction. Eliza and I traded glances. "You will have to excuse us now. We have much work to do," Eliza said.

  With a rustle of skirts, and a humph, Mrs. Callahan went on her way.

  When all that remained of Mrs. Callahan was the too-sweet scent of her toilet water, Eliza turned to me and whispered, "She's a meddler and a gossip. If my guess is right, she's on her way to the Reverend Cobb's with my blasphemous gazette this very moment."

  I'd set much of the type for the gazette and hadn't seen anything I couldn't have said or thought in a church. No vile words, no threat of evil. New ways for women to think about their lives, maybe, but nothing immoral or scandalous.

  Flossy laid her knitting in her lap. "Mu
st be something pretty interesting in that paper. May I buy one?"

  "It's free to you," Eliza said. "A gift for being our first visitor."

  ***

  Lunch that day, and all the days after, was eaten in the print shop. So as not to raise suspicion, Eliza and I took turns carrying our plates through the resting room from the kitchen, a spare plate hidden beneath a heaping one. The food was divided in the safety of the print shop. That way, Isaac, whose stomach was like a bottomless well, ate three quarters of the food on my plate and three quarters of Eliza's as well.

  The afternoon brought but three more visitors. The first was a Mrs. Randolph who told us she'd arrived from England only the week before. Her daughter, who couldn't have been much more than two, toddled over to Eliza and held up her arms. Eliza picked her up and gently brushed the little girl's hair away from her eyes. "And what might your name be?" Eliza asked.

  "Rebecca," the little girl answered. Then, pride glowing in her cheeks, she added, "I rode a train."

  "Is that so? Well, how would like to ride a wooden horse?"

  Rebecca clapped her hands together and squealed.

  "Wait here, then," Eliza said, putting the child down. "I'll go fetch the handsome steed from his corral."

  While Eliza was off on her errand, Mrs. Randolph asked me if it might be possible to heat water for "a spot of tea." I told her that I'd see to it right away and headed for the kitchen.

  I rekindled the fire in the cookstove before filling the copper teakettle from the hot water spigot at Eliza's sink. While the kettle was filling I happened to look out the window. Isaac's mother, a shawl draped over her shoulders, rode by on the back of a mule. I set the kettle on the stove and then went out to greet her.

  "Is he here?" she asked after I'd helped her down from the mule.

  "I'll take you to him," I answered. In the stable, I tied the mule's lead to a hitching post, then rapped a signal on the door leading to the print shop. The door opened a crack, and one of Isaac's eyes peeked out. "Ma," he said, flinging the door wide.

  "Why don't you and your mother go up to your room, where you can visit without being overheard," I whispered.

  "Thank you, Hannah," Isaac's mother said. "You are a dear."

  Together they began to climb the stairs. "Does he know you've come to town?" Isaac asked.

  "Oh, no," his mother answered. "I was up before dawn, got the wash on the line, made his lunch ahead, and told him some of the church ladies were holding a meeting."

  I couldn't help but smile. Isaac's mother was nearly as skilled at telling half-truths as I was. Ladies, church-going ladies most likely, were indeed meeting—in the resting room.

  When I passed through the resting room, little Rebecca was merrily rocking on a wooden horse—the very same rocking horse I'd seen in the nursery on the second floor.

  By the time I returned to the kitchen, Eliza was emptying the copper teakettle into a gleaming silver one. Arranged on a matching tray was a fancy tea service—cups, sugar bowl and creamer, dainty spoons.

  "These things are too fine," I said.

  "Nonsense. Fine things are worthless unless they're shared. Harlan's mother taught me that. When she first took me in I ... uh ... off with you now, before the water loses its heat."

  I carried the tray and my questions into the resting room, and Mrs. Randolph exclaimed, "I feel like a commoner invited to tea at Queen Victoria's court."

  "Everyone is equal here in the resting room," Eliza said from over my shoulder. "This is a place where all women may come to rest and enjoy the company of other women."

  Then came another "Yoo hoo" at the door, though from a younger voice than in the morning. I turned, and there was a girl in yellow, from the color of her hair down to the satin of her shoes. Eliza, recognizing her as Mrs. Callahan's daughter, Drucilla, said, "May I help you?" in a polite though guarded voice.

  "My mother has asked me to return this," Drucilla said, holding out a crumpled copy of the gazette.

  I stood close enough to Eliza to see that many of the passages had been marked through with ink and that handwritten notes had been scrawled in the margins.

  Drucilla turned to leave then turned back. "Did you mean what you said, that all women are welcome here?"

  "Young and old, town and country."

  "I overheard my mother telling the Reverend Cobb's wife that you have books here, sitting right out in the open for anyone to read. I was wondering if that might include me?"

  "Your mother wouldn't approve, would she?"

  "No, ma'am. But I believe I'm of an age where the choice should be mine."

  "What age might that be?"

  "Seventeen last Wednesday, ma'am"

  "You're right. You are old enough to decide things for yourself. You're welcome to read whatever you like."

  "Do you have any works of Shelley or Keats?"

  "Several volumes of each, but before you get lost in their poetry, I'd like to introduce you to Hannah. She's my partner here in the resting room."

  I smiled and stepped forward. Drucilla, who before the day was out would ask me to call her Dru, smiled back. Dru, who would become my bosom friend.

  PART II

  Mid-July, 1888

  Issac

  BY MID-JULY, THREE LEATHER-BOUND GUEST BOOKS HAD BEEN scrawled with the names of visitors to the resting room. Most of the women arrived on foot, others by wagon, and a few of the younger and more daring galloped up the drive on horseback. I'd seen just two of these visitors face to face. The others I'd only glimpsed in their comings and goings from behind the curtained window in my room above the stable or heard as a group mumble through the print shop walls.

  Ma had visited as often as she dared, though she'd kept her visits short for fear Mr. Richards would find out that she wasn't in whatever place she'd told him she'd be. When she arrived, Ma would always say, "Let me feast my eyes on you," then walk a circle around me like she was making sure I hadn't lost any of my parts or grown any new ones. After she'd done that, she'd start in fussing about how peaked I looked. "Pale as flour paste," she'd say, shaking her head, then unload the gifts she'd smuggled out from under Mr. Richards's nose by tucking them into secret pockets she'd sewn inside her skirts. One day it'd be a half-loaf of her raisin bread, another a few strips of jerked beef. Always, just before leaving, she'd peck a kiss on my cheek like she'd done when I was little boy.

  Only once had she done something different. It was as hot as a blacksmith shop in my room that day, so Ma and I whisper-talked down in the stable. We were sitting in the boat, which, according to Eliza, had been a hobby for the Judge—a reminder of boyhood days spent sailing off Cape Cod. A boat Eliza had said was mine for the keeping if I finished her. Ma and I sat there in the near dark, side to side.

  "Make believe you are on a ship, Ma, the wind strong in her sails," I said after a longer than usual quiet.

  "Where might I be sailing off to?" Ma asked, her voice as lively as a girl's.

  "Away from Mr. Richards," I answered.

  "Please don't say things like that, Isaac. I'm his wife, and I'm beholden to him."

  "You owe him nothing."

  "But I do. I should have told you this before: he's the one who paid for your pa's plot in the cemetery. He's the one who paid our boarding bill at the Ackerman Hotel. There we were, without a penny to our name and about to be thrown out on the street with no place to go and no family to ask for help, when he raps on the door to our room and says right out that his wife's just died and his boys need a ma and the undertaker's told him of the fix we're in and will I marry him, all in the same breath. I wanted to slam the door in his face, but I didn't, though before I agreed to marry him I made him promise that he'd let you get your schooling."

  A knot had tightened like a fist in my gut. "How much did we owe, Ma?"

  "Nearly eighty dollars."

  "You've paid him back a hundred times, Ma. Slaving in his kitchen, putting up with his foul mouth."

  "Enough,"
Ma said. "Lets not spoil our time together fretting over that which cant be undone. I want to use the little time I have left to talk about a thing that can be undone. You can't go on like this, son, holed up here like a bat in a cave. It's not natural for a body to live like this, not healthy, and I'm begging you to give Mr. Richards the tools so he'll drop the charges against you and you'll be free to live your life out in the open as God intended."

  "I can't do that, Ma. You know I can't."

  "All I know is that your health is more important than those tools. Holding on to them isn't worth it, Isaac, and Mr. Richards will never give up looking for you, because he knows the law is on his side. The tools rightly belong to him now. When we married, everything that was mine legally became his."

  I didn't answer Ma back, just asked her to wait and then leapt over the side of the boat and hurried into the print shop to fetch a handful of old issues of the Women's Gazette.

  When I got back, I helped Ma down from the boat and gave her the papers. "Read these, Ma. Eliza and others like her all over the country are trying to change things for women, trying to change the laws."

  Ma tucked the papers into one of her secret pockets, and she never asked me to return the tools again, though the next time she came to visit, and after she'd taken her scissors to my shaggy hair, she did go sneaking off to talk to Eliza. Don't know exactly what Ma said, but later that evening Eliza offered to telegraph an old friend of the Judge and ask on my behalf if he might have a job for me. Seemed this man owned a fleet of tugs and barges on the Mississippi. I told Eliza that unless she wasn't happy with my work I'd rather stay. What I didn't tell Eliza or Ma or even Hannah was that when and if I did leave I wasn't planning to leave alone.

  The other visitor I'd seen face to face was Drucilla, Dru. Her ma being away and a hired girl doing all the housework, Dru came to the resting room every day except for Sunday, which was the only day her banker pa was home to notice if she was there or not.

  Dru discovered me not long after her first visit. I was working in the print shop, quietly stuffing gazettes into envelopes and writing the addresses on the outside, when there came a single rap on the door. I undid the latch, then posted myself in such a way as to be out of sight when the door opened. Dru peeked in. When she saw me she grinned like she was about to tag me "it." Without thinking, I grabbed her arm, jerked her inside, and slammed the door closed behind her. It was kind of like reeling in a fish then not knowing what to do with it once it was landed. I just stood there, dumbstruck and gawking.