Coal Dusters: Book 1 is now available as as PDF – this covers the first 35 chapters – 65540 words – send $1.99 to paypal.me/TOpoet
Lillian Goes to Church
Lillian stood on the front walk of the the McFadden’s home. The O’Dowell’s had come over to New Waterford for the night on Saturday so they could attend the special service at Mount Carmel. The strike was nearing its fifth week with no sign of ending. The Monseigneur had called for a special service on Sunday to bring the Word of God to the parishioners of the area. Her uncle was one of the priest asked to speak to the men.
Clara had insisted on her and Lillian spending the night so they wouldn’t be rushed in the morning to get across the bay to New Waterer in time for the service. She plucked a stray thread off of her dark coat. She was pleased at the opportunity to wear some of her Boston clothes. Even more pleased to have her lace gloves to cover her hands. Her eyes kept going down to her pumps. How dainty her feet looked in the dark blue shoes. Probably two years out of style by now, she thought, but still looking better than anything she had seen anyone wearing here.
“Ah Lillian, there you are.” Clara came out of the house followed by the McFadden’s and their two daughters. “You are looking quite well turned out today.”
“Thank You Clara. I haven’t gotten much opportunity to dress my best.”
They walked the few blocks to the church.
As she with Clara, Lillian noticed a large number men in uniform along the street. They were smoking and laughing. Some appeared to have been drinking.
“Who are they going to protect.” Mr. McFadden said. “The choir?”
The extra militia had been brought in to New Waterford at the demand of the coal company. The management had pressured the local police to beef up security around the mines after many of the company stores had been ransacked. It was as if they had been hoping the miners would take that more militant action after the ambush hadn’t succeeded. Any action so the company could escalate things in their own way.
Lillian and Clara passed through the main part of of the town. Off to one side street were more men on horseback. There was also some artillery on a wheeled cart. Colonel Strickland stood there with his hands behind his back watching the men inspect the artillery.
“What do they expect the miner’s to do?” Lillian asked Clara.
“They are sure there are agitators working to undermine the company’s influence.”
“Men whose only intent to disrupt lawful business under the guise of making things better for the workers. Communists.” Clara waved to her brother. “Steven, any word from BritCanada Coal?”
He crossed the street to join them. “Good morning.” He kissed his sister on the cheek and shook Lillian’s hand. They had decided to keep their engagement a secret for the time being. The assembly is in full agreement with Wolvin’s statement that the men can end all this simply by returning to work. They are willing to open the mines so the men can start earning their keep. As general manager he has no ability to negotiate. He’s only a messenger but the men feel he’s the one keeping the company from giving in.”
“Their keep!” Mr. McFadden said. “They were being paid barely enough to keep house and family together under the old contract and now they have to settle for less?”
“Mr. McFadden, in order for the company to remain competitive in the market they have to have the coal for less, that means paying the men less. The alternative is to close down more of the mines. Is that what you think the miners want?”
“You know as well as I do that the miners want an end to this starvation. BritCanada Coal is letting the miners’ children pay the price of their profits.”
“BritCanada Coal can’t be held accountable for the ….” Steven glanced apologetically to Lillian and the other ladies, “… the propagation habits of the miners. If you can’t afford children don’t bring more into the world.”
“Steven!” Clara snapped. “What a thing to say!”
They were at the church steps. In the foyer the Monseigneur was greeting parishioners as they arrived. Father Patrick was at his side. She hadn’t seen him since he had ‘cast her forth into the wilderness’ as it was reported to her by Aileen. She didn’t offer her hand to him but merely nodded as his glance went quickly to Mrs. McFadden beside her.
Seeing him again made her bruises throb. She had kept Clara from seeing how severe they actually were. She had made Dr. Drummond swear not to mention the severity of them to anyone. The few long hot soaking baths which she had over the past week had eased the pain considerably. Aileen had insisted she try a poultice of comfrey and mustard which reduced the swelling and discolouration.
She followed Clara to the pew they were to use for the service. On the way she was stopped by Hanna Seldon.
“Miss Lillian, it’s good to see you looking well.”
“You too Hanna. How’s the baby.”
“Poorly miss. He has that flu so many of the children have had the past few months. Least we have been able feed him to keep his strength up. The doctor says there’s a good chance he’ll pull through.”
Lillian shook her head in dismay. As the strike progressed and food became scarce many families had less and less to eat. Gardens had helped stave of some of the hunger but many of the children were weak from lack of proper nutrition. This weakness made them more vulnerable to colds and recently a flu. There were funerals daily.
“I wish there was more I could do.” Lillian said.
“Knowing your prayers are with us is more than enough. At least we have a roof over our heads. There’s now many that doesn’t. When they closed the Lingan mine those families were forced out of the company houses. No mine no home. Where is a person to go?”
“There’ll be help I’m sure.” Lillian kissed Hanna on the cheek and joined Clara. She was more grateful that ever for having been given a haven when she needed one, but how long could even the O’Dowell’s manage with things getting worse for everyone around her.
The service washed over her without her paying attention to it. She heard bits and pieces of the various rituals and the sermon. Other parishes were sending money. The Monseigneur had spoken to the Premier to no avail. The Bishop had spoken to the some cabinet misters but was told this was a provincial not a federal matter and so they would do nothing. The conclusion appeared to be that God helps those who help themselves, which in this case only the BritCanada Coal Company had pockets deep enough to help themsevels.
“What does helping themselves mean?” Lillian asked Mr McFadden as they made their way out after the mass.
“Pray and listen to the guidance one gets from the Lord.”
“What if the Lord tells some helping themselves is to strike for better working conditions and tells others that accepting any working condition is better than not working at all?”
“Miss McTavish your words are dangerously similar to those of the Communists.”
“They … they are?” Her face flushed. “Perhaps I’ve been listening too much what Steven has to say about all this.”
“Miss McTavish you are in many ways still an outsider here. This isn’t Boston.”
“I comprehend that but …”
“The folks here don’t think logically. They have no idea of a future only of their stomachs in the now.”
They were in the foyer once again. The crowd was stopped at the doors.
Screams and shouts came from outside.
“Father,” one of the parishioners shouted. “They are charging with horses as we leave the church.”
The Monseigneur and her uncle pushed through the crowd.
The parishioners pushed back and she fell against the wall. An elderly women stumbled back into the church helping her husband. He was bleeding from a blow to the head.
“They rode up as we were walking down the street. Swinging their batons and hitting anyone they could reach.” The woman gasped. “Anyone! We’re not miners!”
Over the shouting she could hear the horses. Then gun shots. There was brief silence.
The miners who were still in the church rushed out. Some pulling up the picket fencing around the church lawn to give them something to use in self-defence.
Lillian cautiously went to one of the side exit doors to peer out. She saw a mass of men with wooden pickets flailing at the militia on horses wielding thick black clubs. Both sides were shouting accusations at each other.
“BritCan doesn’t even want us to go to church in peace. They have no respect for the God.”
“Commie rabble. Papist scum. Pray to your God now.”
“I knows you father Billy Davis.”
“Get off the streets now or …”
“These are our streets, ya goddamned company bastard.”
Another shot rang out. The fighting stopped a moment. The miners fell back to the church grounds. The militia pulled back a few yards to regroup.
A runner dashed up to one of the horsemen with a message.
“A man is dead because of you.” The lead horseman said. “How many more have to die before you learn your place.”
“Who?” several men shouted at once.
“Daniel Jenkis!” the horseman shouted back. “You ready to leave peacefully.”
“We was till you charged as us with no cause.” someone yelled back.
The horseman nodded and all the troops stepped forward. “If that’s how you want it we’ll trample the lot of you.”
“Kill a child. Is that what you want?”
“Not us. You behave and there’ll be no trouble.”
Lilian’s uncle pushed through the men and stood alone in front of them. “How can we disperse with you blocking the streets and sidewalk?” he asked quietly. He puts hands out palms up.
One of the horses reared and the front hooves hit her uncle. He fell forward under the horse. Lilian darted out to drag her uncle out of the horse’s way.
“Get out of the way you Catholic biddy.” One of the other horsemen laughed and Lilian glanced at him as he swung his baton at her.
“That’s it!” a male voice from the other side of that horseman shouted as the horseman was yanked backwards off the horse. She caught a glimpse of Steven O’Dowell wresting that rider to the ground.
The rider of the rearing horse had it under control and had pulled it away from the prone body of her uncle.
She knelt beside him. He was on his stomach and she wasn’t sure if she should turn him over.
“Uncle Pat can you hear me.” she said squeezing his hand.
“Yes child.” He turned his head toward her.
She saw that he was bleeding from a gash on his forehead. He pushed himself up painfully with his right arm. She struggled with his weight to help him stand. Two miners came over to take his weight from her.
“Thank you. I’m a bit winded. When I saw the beast rear before me it was the horsemen of the Apocalypse come to life to warn me. But this one was only an animal, not a messenger.”
“Lillian …” Steven came quickly to her brushing dust off his coat. “You haven’t been harmed in any way have you?”
“No, Steven I haven’t. Father Pat has been injured sorely. We must get him some medical attention.”
They helped her uncle back into the church. Inside on the benches were several others who had been assaulted by the militia.
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