Wishes on the Wind (20 page)

    The import of Sean's question registered deep inside her as Meg returned the intense stare of brilliant eyes so similar to her own. And she responded with a whispered, "Aye, that's so."

    Sean's eyes narrowed as he walked the familiar, moonlit street on the way home. His step was uncertain, but his mind was steady and racing at the feverish pace of fury. He clenched his fist, wincing at the pain, and gave a satisfied snort. He'd taught Kevin Mulrooney what it cost to make unwise comments about one of his kin!

    Grunting as he stumbled on an unseen rut in the road, Sean cast a glance toward the house on the hill, lit brightly as it was each night with complete lack of regard for the cost. A low oath escaped his lips. Damn all them up there to hell!

    His mind returned to the noisy saloon where he had spent the past few hours after leaving Meg and Father Matthew in the hallway. He dismissed the angry dispute that had raged about Franklin Benjamin Gowen and suspicions of monopoly. For all their talk, none of the men there could influence the outcome of Gowen's endeavors, and as far as he was concerned, most of the talk was wasted effort. But he had gone to the
 
she been
with thoughts of learning, and learn he had. If he was not wrong, the Mollies would gear up their efforts should Gowen be successful, and he was anxious to see the result. However, he presently had things of a more important nature to consider this night.

    Kevin Mulrooney's drunken leer again coming to the fore, Sean growled low in his throat. Could what Mulrooney had said be true? Had he really seen Meg out riding with David Lang,
 

    comfortably sharing the bastard's saddle as if she wanted all the world to see her there?

    No, it couldn't have been
his
Meg. His Meg wouldn't let David Lang bring her so low as to have some saying she was going against her own. And Mulrooney wouldn't repeat that tale again, at the risk of losing more of the few teeth he had left in his mouth.

    Sean came to an abrupt decision. He would not question Meg about the story, not with Ma being so bad, and with Meg torn up inside as she was. He'd not allow the loose tongue of a fool to cause her more grief, but that didn't mean he'd forget. He'd watch and wait, and if the time came when he found the nephew of the proud Martin Lang trying to take advantage of his Meg, he'd handle it.

    Raising his chin determinedly, Sean gave a short, decisive nod. And if he had to take care of David Lang, he'd not use his naked fist, either. There were better ways.

Chapter 8

    "'The molly Maguires is a society rendered infamous by its treachery and deeds of blood the terror of every neighborhood in which it exists… the disgrace of Irishmen… the scandal of the Catholic Church…'"

    Father Matthew faced his sober parishioners across the altar rail at Sunday mass, his youthful face austere, his small eyes gleaming with the ardor of his words.

    "So stated Bishop Wood of Philadelphia in the September issue of the
Catholic Standard
only a few weeks ago, and every decent Catholic here in Shenandoah should loudly affirm his words! The war between the states is now over, but here, in the coal fields, an endless war still rages. It rages in the patches, on the streets of towns all around us, a thousand feet beneath the earth's surface, on country roads, and on speeding trains. It is vicious and merciless, and its violence harms assailant and victim alike, because it is a violence that erodes the soul. Only we can make a difference. We must decry the existence of all secret societies. We must speak up with courage against those who would commit crimes against the decency of man. We must remain steadfast and protest the outrage we see around us, not turn our backs and allow the criminals to go free! Each and every one of us here shares the guilt of the Mollies if we do not stand against them. We must deny the label 'informer,' when we merely act as witness against the atrocities of this villainous group. And we must remember that thugs, murderers, arsonists, and assassins are not honest Irishmen are not one of our own despite their claim!"

    Pausing to take a deep breath, Father Matthew surveyed the faces of those filling the pews of his small church. Familiar faces all, they betrayed no emotion at his zealous speech; but young and old, he allowed not a one to escape his scrutiny.

    "We all know what happened only this week in Pottsville. Two men were shot in broad daylight on a crowded street the     supervisor of Wilson's Colliery and his assistant. They were shot in the presence of many, yet there was not one good man among the witnesses who would testify as to what he had seen. We know the reason for this silence, as well as we know that the assassination was in return for the deceased Mr. Blaine's firing of two Irish miners for drunkenness after they had been repeatedly warned not to report to work under the influence of drink. Mr. Blaine leaves behind him a wife and three children, and his assistant leaves a wife and four more little ones without a father. Some would say that is justice. But not I! And in good conscience, neither can any one of you!"

    Father Matthew paused again, to continue in softer appeal.

    "We all bear our portion of guilt in this heinous affair, and in the many previously committed, for allowing the cloak of anonymity to remain over the faces of these murderers. Search your souls, my dear people, each and every one of you, and see if you can hide from the truth. I can abide this horror no longer. With this last criminal act, the Molly Maguires have forced me to commit myself to the dissolution of their organization, and it is to that cause that I pledge myself before you today. No longer will my battles against these monstrous men be halfhearted with the thought that members may be represented here, in our very midst today a part of my own flock. No more will I rely solely on prayer when God has given me the strength and determination to take steps of my own. No longer will I bear the weight of these atrocious acts in my heart without urging each and every one of you to stand up and join me in my cause to bring honor back to the name of our countrymen.

    "I call on your now, my good people, all those of you who wish to save your souls from putrefying with these Irishmen who befoul the name they bear with their murderous deeds. I call on you to speak up against them and oust them from amongst you. I ask you to do this from this day onward, as shall I."

    Silence met the conclusion of Father Matthew's fervent sermon, and he paused to survey his congregation a moment longer. As he turned back to the altar, he bent his head in silent prayer not for himself, but for the souls of those who had heard his words and now condemned him.

    "Well, he did it!"

    David's reaction to Uncle Martin's triumphant statement was reserved sobriety as he glanced toward the sheet of paper his uncle    held in his hand. Two months had passed since the fire, and it was well into autumn. David was fully recuperated from his injuries and had regained his manual dexterity, but things had not been going well between his uncle and himself since returning to work at the office early in the month. Instead, an unacknowledged barrier seemed to keep them from the easy communication of the past, and David was at a loss to identify it. It had been a long, difficult morning, and David had the feeling things would not get much better as he scanned the letter his uncle held out for him to read.

    "This announcement says Franklin Benjamin Gowen is no longer Chief Counsel to the President of The Road. He's now President! And at the age of thirty-two! I tell you, David, the man's brilliant! Gowen managed his father's Shamokin Furnace Colliery when he was only twenty years old, you know. Then he studied for the bar and became district attorney in Schuylkill County when he was twenty-six. That's when he first became concerned with backing down the Mollies and vowed not to stop until he had them on the run. And as you well know, he's the man we can thank for bringing the state militia in to save us from those rioting union bastards who would've seen our work smashed into the dust last year. He'll be the salvation of these coal fields, you'll see."

    "Do you really think so, Uncle Martin?"

    "I wouldn't have said it if I didn't believe it, David!"

    An expression of exasperation crossed Martin Lang's face as he gave his nephew a hard glance, and David winced inwardly at his uncle's obvious annoyance.

    "I'm sorry, Uncle Martin, but you know I don't share your enthusiasm for Mr. Gowen."

    "It seems we've not had many thoughts in common of late, David, and I don't mind telling you, your attitude is beginning to give me cause for alarm."

    David stiffened, concerned at his uncle's tone. "Are you looking for a 'yes' man, Uncle Martin, because if you are, I'll be happy to oblige. But I thought you brought me into the office with you to learn and to share my opinions with you. That's what I've tried to do."

    "Really, David? Are you sharing
your
opinions with me? Or are you repeating the thoughts of someone else who seems to be influencing you far more deeply than I since you were injured?"

    David's face flamed a deed red. "You do me an injustice, Uncle    Martin. I wasn't idle during my recuperation, and I didn't sit listening to sad stories of the miners' daily trials as you seem to think.'' Refusing to enter Meg's name into the conversation as his uncle obviously desired, David continued. "I've been reading books from your own library on the history of the fields, and I've taken great care to keep abreast of everything written in the newspapers about the other collieries, as well as the articles written about your friend, Mr. Gowen. I have a question to ask you. How do you expect Mr. Gowen will accomplish this salvation to which you refer?"

    "Whatever way he can, according to the law."

    "Shall I tell you how I expect he'll accomplish it?"

    "I'll not listen to your subversive ideas, David!"

    "Subversive! Uncle, at least hear me out! When you recited Gowen's list of achievements, you failed to list his failures as well. And one of those failures was the mine he bought along with a partner at Mt. Lafee, near Cass Township. Gowen claimed bankruptcy after two years. He publicly attributed his failure to his own lack of judgment, but it's reported he told intimates that the pressure of rising unionism was forcing independent mine operators to the wall, and that unless incipient labor organizations were crushed, they would soon rule the coal trade. He said that unionism could be defeated only by close cooperation of all mine owners, and that a strong and ruthless hand was needed to rule the steadily weakening independent collieries, that the only solution may be merger or absorption."

    "Is there something wrong with his beliefs? I happen to agree with them."

    "But you're not President of the Philadelphia and Reading Railroad, and not rumored to be supporting a bill permitting railroads to own mines."

    "What are you trying to say, David?"

    "Monopoly, Uncle Martin! Mr. Franklin Benjamin Gowen is taking his first step toward monopolizing the coal fields, and with his presidency of The Road, probably prices as well."

    "What would be so wrong with that? All the mine owners would benefit from higher prices."

    "Do you really want one man, no matter who he is, to have complete control over your future, Uncle Martin?"

    Silence.

    His uncle's small eyes, hard and unflinching, remained fastened    on David's flushed face. David felt their scrutiny down to his toes, but he refused to retreat under their intensity.

    "You learned all this reading the books in my library, David, and the newspapers delivered to my home?"

    "Yes, Uncle."

    "It's strange that I didn't draw the same conclusions from them."

    "I think your admiration for Mr. Gowen may have influenced your views."

    "As your distrust of him may have influenced yours?"

    A reluctant smile tugged at David's lips. "Perhaps. I suppose we'll have to wait and see, won't we?"

    "Perhaps."

    The harshness in his face slowly relaxing, Uncle Martin hesitated only a moment longer before closing the distance between them in a few short steps and placing his hand on David's shoulder.

    "I think I owe you an apology, David. The truth is, I missed you sorely in this office while you were recuperating from your injuries, and was looking forward to the time when you'd be back working with me. But when you were finally well enough to return, I sensed a change in you that I couldn't quite define. It bothered me because of the difficult nature of your injuries, and because you seemed to withdraw from us all during your recuperation."

    "I didn't withdraw from you."

    "Yes, you did, David. But I can't fault you for that. You had a terrible experience, and you needed to find strength to overcome it in any way you could. But you're like a son to me, and while I understood, I resented the loss of intimacy between us which seemed to prevail. I'm afraid I allowed that resentment to carry over into our relationship here during the past month. I apologize for that."

    "No apology is necessary, Uncle Martin."

    "Oh, yes, it was necessary, and now that it's said, I think we can start over again on more steady footing." His bushy gray brows meeting in an unexpected frown, Uncle Martin dropped his hand back to his side. "But I caution you, that doesn't mean I agree with your assessment of Mr. Gowen, his principles, or his intentions. However, 'forewarned is forearmed,' and you may be sure I'll examine issues more carefully in the future because of our discussion."