Wishes on the Wind (43 page)

    "We are joined together to promote friendship, unity, and true Christian charity to our members, raising money for the maintenance of the aged, the sick, and the infirm. The motto of the order is Friendship, Unity, and Christian Charity. It is the desire to promote friendship among Irish Catholics and especially to assist one another in all trials. You are expected to keep all matters accruing within the division room a secret in your own heart. None of the workings of the society are to be recalled to those not known to be members."

    Still on his knees, Sean repeated the vow as instructed. "I, Sean O'Connor, having heard the objects of the Order fully explained, do solemnly swear that I will, with the help of God, keep inviolably secret all the acts and things done by this Order and obey the constitution and by-laws in every respect. I will obey my superior officers in everything lawful and not otherwise. All this I do solemnly swear."

    Ordered to kiss the written sheet, Sean complied.

    On his feet again, Sean watched as the other men filtered out of the room one by one, as they had entered. Not speaking a word until Lenny and he were standing at the bar below once more, Sean turned to his friend with dark sobriety.

    "I'll have you know that I've not crossed myself since the day my Da was put under the ground, and were it not for the assemblege present upstairs, I'd have refused to do so there."

    Lenny's short laugh was devoid of mirth. "Don't be misled by them simple words in the oath ye just took, me boyo. It's not God's work ye'll be doin' now that yer one of us. But an oath is an oath, and it holds ye fast to the blood. And I'll ask ye, now that it's done, do ye have any regrets at becomin' one of Molly's boys?"

    A smile touching his lips for the first time, his brilliant O'Connor eyes cold as ice, Sean shook his head. "Nay, for the truth is, with the words you've just said, a great weight's been lifted from my shoulders, and I feel my life's begun again. And I give you my pledge as well, for the true friend that you've proved to be, Lenny Dunne."

    Sean's eyes were suddenly bright with zeal as he continued. "I'll not falter, no matter what's asked of me, and I'll carry through to the death, be it that of another or my own. And I'll bend to no threat or coercion now that I'm assured that behind the weak spoken words of the pledge I just took is the strength of Molly's boys, for hers is the only courage and hope for justice remaining in this sad place. I'm where I want to be, Lenny, and where I shall remain."

    Lenny hesitated, then questioned Sean hesitantly. "Ye'll not bend to threat or coercion even if it should come from within yer own family?"

    Knowing Lenny could be referring to no one other than Meg, Sean stiffened. "I'll set your mind to rest on that score, here and now. My sister's heart is pure, and O'Connor blood flows in her veins. She's no threat to me or mine, and never will be. And another thing I'll make clear to you is that Meg is dearer to me than any person alive, and I'll not suffer that question on your lips again, at the expense of the friendship between us that I value so well. Is that understood, friend?"

    Challenging his gaze for long moments, Lenny abruptly extended his hand. "Understood brother."

    His handsome O'Connor face relaxing at last, Sean accepted Lenny's hand. "Aye, 'brother' under Molly's smile. And we'll make her happy, the two of us will. We'll make her grin."

    Lenny's gaze locked with his in a pledge that went far beyond his simple word of response. "Aye."

    David looked out the rail car window as a screeching whistle heralded the train's departure. His eyes moving from the teary-eyed group frantically waving on the platform, he searched the surrounding area for the appearance of the slender figure he unconsciously awaited.

    David's eyesight blurred as the platform faded from sight, as a voice in his mind battled final acceptance, insisting
Meg wouldn't let you leave her
.

    The cold voice of reality wrenched his heart in two, responding
But she did
.

    David closed his eyes.
Oh, God, she did
…

    Tears running down her cheeks, Meg stared out her bedroom window as the screeching whistle of the afternoon train grew faint and slowly died away. David was on that train. Until this moment somehow, she hadn't truly believed it. David wouldn't go off and leave her. He couldn't.

    Her mind returned an unyielding reply
But he did
.

    
Oh, God, he did.

1875

Chapter 18

    Five hundred in number, the striking miners surged down the snow-dotted, early-morning Ashland street toward the mines. Blood rage in their eyes, bludgeons in their hands, they traveled as one angry beast, chanting their hatred of the infamous "blacklegs “the "scabs" imported into the fields to break the strike.

    Foxworth Colliery came into view, and the good-looking, dark-haired fellow in the lead whispered to the men beside him. Waiting only until small groups separated from the main body of the strikers to take positions at the perimeter of the area, the stone-faced leader then called with a bold warning shout to the dozen or so armed policemen approaching them.

    "Lay down your guns, you damned fools!" Looking directly into the eyes of the uniformed officers one by one as silence fell over the tense tableau, the leader allowed his gaze to settle on the captain, a large man with a dour, unyielding expression standing in the center of the line that stretched out on either side of him. "Tell your men to lay down their guns, Linden, or you'll be signin' their death warrants here and now."

    The sober policeman matched daring with calm tenacity as he responded gruffly. "Seems to me you have things a bit mixed up here, Sean O'Connor, for it's my men who have the arms and the advantage over all of you here."

    "Is that so?" Spittle wet Sean's lips with his short burst of laughter. "Have you never learned to count, then? You would run out of bullets long before you could down even the smallest portion of the men behind me, and there's not a man amongst us who'd not risk death for his convictions and to save his family from starvation at the hands of the bastards that employ you!"

    An angry grumbling swelled from within the miners' ranks as the big policeman's heavy brows furrowed. "So you think to feed your families from the graves, is that it, then?"

    "And if we should, you'd not be here to see if we succeed or fail, Linden, for you'll be the first to go!"

    An uneasy silence followed Sean's threat as men on both sides tensed for the captain's reply.

    "Your Da would turn over in his grave to see you so engaged, O'Connor."

    "Don't speak of my Da to me, you bastard!" Sean's eyes blazed. "You were never his friend, except after he was in his grave and unable to deny it!"

    Responding to Sean's reply with a short shake of his head, the big policeman looked at the huge sandy-haired man to Sean's rear. "You, too, Donovan?" Not waiting for a reply, Linden then looked at the short, mustached fellow on Sean's left. "As for you, McKenna, you're proof of the saying that trouble attracts trouble, for I doubt you've done more than a month's honest work in your life. You're in your element here, aren't you?"

    McKenna did no more than laugh in reply, but Sean did not let the remark go unchallenged.

    "It goes against your grain to see men who're not afraid to stand up to you, don't it, Linden? Well, we've only simple words in reply to your threats. You can tell your bosses that not a single blackleg will get past us to take the place of a good hardworkin' man in this mine. And you can tell them"

    "They're comin'! The whole, blasted pack of them dirty thievin' scabs! Let's get 'em!"

    Turning at the shout from within the midst of the strikers, Sean halted the men with a sharp command. Pushing his way through their number, he faced the terrified column of strikebreakers where they had paused in their approach. Uniformed guards waved their guns uncertainly at the angry mob held barely in check, and Sean laughed mockingly. His expression threatening, he looked at each scab worker in turn, hatred spilling from his lips.

    "You filthy, black-hearted bastards! You think to steal food from the mouths of our families while we battle for a fair wage, but you'll not see a cent of the blood money you come here seekin'!" Dismissing the guns trained on him with a wave of his hand, he continued hotly. "Them puny weapons is nothin' compared with the vengeance you'll know if you set foot in them mines this day, or any other! Take fair warnin'! Get back from this place and never return, or the only thing you'll get here will be the few feet of earth you'll be buried in!"

    The replacement workers hesitated, and Sean turned to the men around him, speaking loud and clear. "Did you hear what I said, men? Are you with me?"

    A loud chorus of "Aye!" thundered into the stillness as Sean turned back, his eyes gleaming maniacally. "What do you say to that, you dirty scabs?"

    No response.

    "Eh? Answer me, you bastards!"

    Without response, the terrified laborers began scattering, running for their lives as their guards stood helplessly by.

    "Stand your ground, you fools!" Captain Linden's voice broke into the panic-stricken scene as his men and he edged forward, guns ready. "Stand your ground!"

    "You're wastin' your breath on that bunch of cowards!" Sean's laughter bore a victorious note as the last of the blacklegs showed them their backs. He looked up into the big policeman's flushed face, his smile dropping away as he met the Scotsman's silent fury. Challenging him with a fury of his own, Sean continued contemptuously. "Or maybe they wasn't cowards. Maybe they was just smart, seein' that the Coal and Iron Police has no chance against the mob of us who travel with right on our side, and us who won't consent to sellin' our souls to Benjamin Franklin Gowen."

    Linden responded flatly, "I'm thinking you flatter yourself in believing you have a soul left to sell, my fine fellow."

    Sean took a spontaneous step forward, his face hot with anger, and Captain Linden snarled, "You'll think before you act, if you're wise."

    The big man behind Sean gripped his arm, staying him. "He's right, Sean. He's but lookin' for an excuse to shed blood, and we're not goin' to give him one today." A quick look over his shoulder revealed the last of the blacklegs' retreat, and the fellow added, "We've no need. We've won."

    "Fool that you are" Captain Linden spoke low in warning. "You've won the day, but you know well that the battle's lost. It was lost from the day it was declared."

    His eyes bearing a fanatical gleam, Sean replied in a low rasp. "If that's so, you can be sure it won't be a bloodless scene, for there's them who've vowed not to surrender."

    His zeal just as intense, Captain Linden returned, "And if I've my choice, I'd not have you be one of them that dies for a lost cause, laddie."

    "Get out of my way!" Turning, Sean waved the men behind him forward with a shout. "Them scabs won't return to this place. We've won the day, boyos!"

    The sudden crush forward swept Captain Linden and his men to the side, but not before Sean O'Connor's clear eyes met his once more in silent promise of that which was to come.

    
Strike.

    The word echoed in Meg's mind, increasing her tension as she stood at the window of her room, peering outside through the snow-dusted pane. Her gaze trailed the deceptively tranquil scene beyond, the skeletal outline of the idle breaker in the distance, the mounds of slag and cinder, the great pools of effluent pumped from hundreds of feet below the earth all sheathed in a pristine cover of white deposited by an unseasonal snowstorm.

    Raising her gaze briefly, Meg saw that snow covered the house on the hill that had once been such an important part of her life. The roof glittered in the afternoon spring sun, but it was already shedding its mantle, as it had shed significance in her mind when the Langs sold their mine to Franklin Gowen two years previously and moved away.

    Memory recalled an autumn day five years earlier when the whistle of a departing train closed the door on a part of her life forever, but she forced it from conscious thought with the realization that the turn of the year 1875 had brought a violence to the coal fields from which she suspected it would never recover.

    With deepening anguish Meg recalled the sweeping changes that took place at the Lang Colliery, and across the coal fields in general, after Franklin Benjamin Gowen gained control. Wages fell, working hours were reduced, and new waves of immigrants flooded into the Pennsylvania anthracite counties, swelling the already overfull labor pool. Gowen and other employers like him refused any concession to the delegations of miners who appealed to them for relief, and Meg was acutely aware that there were now very few miners in the fields who did not see slow starvation in their futures.

    How long had it been? Four months? The strike called by the Mine Workers Benevolent Association in December of the previous year had caused thousands of men to lay down their picks and shovels, but it had seen little success. The union's treasury was exceedingly low, and the workers had neither cash in their pockets nor food in their larders. In every county there were collieries     where the call to strike had been ignored, and the result was that enough coal was dug and prepared for market to supply a fair portion of the nation's coal needs, thus weakening the strikers' position. As Christmas gifts to the striking miners and their families, Gowen and other operators had given bobtail checks and a complete stoppage of credit at the "pluck me" stores. Since the shelves of independently-owned grocery stores near Lang's mine had long since been emptied, each day saw bellies growing emptier, and the union growing weaker.