Glimmers of Change (35 page)

The carriage pulled to a stop in front of them and a ruddy-faced man jumped down from the seat. “Mrs. Livingston!” he said. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

“And you, as well, Paxton,” Abby said sincerely. “But my last name is no longer Livingston. I married last year. My last name is Cromwell now.”

“Congratulations,” Paxton said cheerfully. “You look wonderful, so marriage must be agreeing with you.”

“I’d like you to meet my stepdaughter, Carrie Borden.”

“It’s a pleasure, Mrs. Borden,” Paxton said formally.

Abby quickly made the rest of the introductions. Carrie watched Paxton carefully. His smile and manner were impeccably professional, but he wore grief like a cloak. She could tell by the look in Abby’s eyes that she saw the same thing, but she knew Abby wouldn’t question him in front of everyone.

Paxton loaded the luggage, settled everyone in the carriage, and took his seat. With a raise of his reins, the horse moved forward willingly.

Carrie appreciated the gleaming shine of the bay’s coat but was equally aware of the poor condition of many of the other horses lined up along the station curb. Dull hair, exposed ribs, and listless eyes spoke of poor care. She scowled with anger when she saw how many whips were being brandished. Already, she was disenchanted with New York City.

Suddenly she saw one driver stand up in his carriage, raise his whip, and begin to mercilessly lash the poor horse standing trapped by the heavy harness. Carriages in front and behind made it impossible for him to move.

“Stop!” Carrie cried, anger and pain causing her heart to pound as she saw the miserable fear in the horse’s eyes. She reached up to grab Paxton’s arm. “Paxton, stop right this minute!”

Paxton shot a look at Abby and then pulled back on the reins. “Ain’t nothing you can do, Mrs. Borden.”

“You watch me!” Carrie vowed furiously, jumping from the carriage and running across the road, narrowly avoiding being run over by another carriage. She reached the horse that was being beaten and raised her hands. “Stop right this minute!” she yelled, fury checking the tears that wanted to flow down her cheeks at the horse’s pitiful condition.

“What’s wrong with you, lady?” the driver growled, raising the whip again.

Carrie was poised to jump up into the carriage to stop him, when she felt Paxton by her side.

“Stop it, Lyle,” Paxton ordered. “You done driven that horse to death.”

Lyle smirked and slashed forward with the whip again.

Carrie groaned as another lash mark scoured the horse’s side. “I said to stop it!” she cried, searching her mind for a way to stop the man. Suddenly Abby, Janie, Elizabeth, Alice, and Florence were all standing with her, scowling up at the brutal driver.

The watching carriage drivers began to laugh. The driver’s face reddened with fury as he stared down at the women. “Get out of my way,” he snapped. “This ain’t none of your business.”

Carrie opened her mouth to reply when a tall man, dressed elegantly in a top hat stepped forward.

“It is most certainly her business,” the man said grimly. “Not only that, you are breaking the law.”

“What law?” the driver asked suspiciously. “And who are you?”

“My name is Henry Bergh. I am the president of the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.”

“Ain’t never heard of it,” the driver retorted.

“It’s quite new,” Bergh responded. “It was just created on April tenth of this year. On April nineteenth, an anti-cruelty law was passed. My society has been granted the right to enforce it.” He deliberately raised his voice so the other carriage drivers would hear him.

“Still ain’t never heard of it,” the driver repeated, but this time he sounded less certain.

“Your ignorance is no excuse for breaking the law,” Bergh replied firmly. “If you so much as raise that whip again, I will have you arrested.”

The driver’s face, if possible, got even redder, but he remained still, his eyes casting around for help. The other drivers, now that they had heard mention of the police, turned their attention elsewhere.

Bergh moved forward to release the horse from the harness cutting into his flesh.

“What are you doing?” the driver exclaimed.

“I am freeing this horse from your violent care,” Bergh said grimly.

“How am I supposed to drive my carriage?” the man asked angrily.

“That is hardly my problem,” Bergh replied haughtily.

Carrie moved forward to help him, her hands moving gently over the horse’s body as she pulled the harness away. Fear faded in the horse’s eyes as he realized he was being rescued, but nothing could erase the misery caused by years of obvious abuse. Carrie felt sick, wanting nothing more than to put the horse on a train and send it back to the plantation. Bile rose in her throat as raw, oozing sores emerged from beneath the harness.

While the driver sputtered and cursed, she and Bergh finished freeing the horse. Bergh stroked its face gently and walked him away from the carriage. The horse moved slowly, his head bowed, relief radiating from his eyes.

“Where will you take him?” Carrie asked, one hand resting protectively on the horse’s neck while she caressed his side, careful to avoid the lashes and sores. She was certain the horse had experienced no kind human contact.

“I have secured a stable in Manhattan,” Bergh replied. “I will take him there until I can find a place in the country. This horse will never pull another carriage. I can assure you he will be well cared for.”

“Thank you,” Carrie said gratefully, tears filling her eyes now that the horse was safe. She glared back over her shoulder. “That man should be shot.”

“Agreed,” Bergh replied. “Since that option is not legal, I will continue to try to save the animals.”

Carrie peered up at him, drawn by the kindness etched on his narrow face. “I’ve never heard of your society.”

“Not a surprise. It is the first in America, designed after England’s Royal Society founded in 1840. We’ve only begun to fight for animals’ rights here in America, but we will continue to fight until things change.”

Carrie shuddered. “It’s inconceivable to me that someone would treat a horse this way.”

Bergh eyed her. “You’re experienced with horses.”

“My family owns a plantation in Virginia. We raise horses.”

“And what are you doing in New York City?”

Carrie saw no reason to not be honest. “I’m here with the rest of my friends to attend the Women’s Rights Conference, but also to meet with doctors on the Metropolitan Board of Health.”

Bergh raised his eyebrows as he looked around. “All of you?”

Carrie nodded. “With the exception of this wonderful woman who is a very successful business owner,” she smiled as she nodded at Abby, “we are all students at the Women’s Medical College of Philadelphia.”

Bergh smiled. “It is indeed a pleasure to meet all of you. I will think of you fighting ignorant people for the right to be doctors as I fight ignorant people who believe they can abuse animals.”

He bowed to all of them and then led the horse slowly down the street.

Carrie glanced over at the driver, now sitting on a carriage seat that had no horse to pull it.

“See what you done now?” the driver called, his eyes sparkling dangerously.

“I do,” Carrie said calmly. “I have saved a wonderful animal from an ignorant man who should never have another one.” She spun on her heel and marched back to the carriage.

Paxton waited for everyone to get back into the carriage and then climbed back into his seat. “You sure she’s just a stepdaughter?” he murmured to Abby. “She’s just as independent and hard-headed as you are.”

Laughter rang merrily through the air as the carriage pulled away from the station.

Abby waited until Paxton had unloaded everyone’s luggage and carried it up onto the porch. The house butler took over, showing Carrie and her friends to their rooms. She had known the Stratfords would not be home when they arrived. Her friend, Nancy, would be returning home within the hour. Nancy hated not to be there for their arrival, but she was involved in final plans for the Women’s Rights Conference.

When everyone left the porch, Abby turned to Paxton. “Is something wrong?” she asked gently.

“Excuse me?” Paxton mumbled.

“I know I don’t have the right to ask, Paxton, yet I can’t help but see the grief in your eyes.”

Paxton stared at her, his green eyes numb under his reddish thatch of hair. “It’s a bad time to be alive,” he finally said. Then he groaned. “Actually it’s a bad time to be dead.” His eyes flashed with desperate grief.

“What happened?” Abby asked quietly. She sensed Paxton had no one to share his grief with, and she could tell it was eating him up from the inside.

Paxton remained silent for so long, Abby doubted he was going to say anything, but finally he let out a heavy sigh. “Have you heard of the
Monarch of the Seas
?”

“I’m sorry, no. I’m assuming it is a boat?”

Paxton nodded, grief turning his eyes into molten emeralds. “My two sisters sailed from Liverpool on March nineteenth. They were coming from Ireland to start a new life.” His voice twisted as he fell silent.

Abby waited quietly, though she suspected she already knew the ending of the story.

“It’s gone,” Paxton finally said.

“Gone?” Abby echoed. “Do you mean it sunk?”

“Just
gone
,” Paxton ground out through gritted teeth. “It completely disappeared. Everyone figures it has sunk, but no one is positive. It has simply been given up as lost.”

Abby gasped, raising her hand to her mouth. “I’m so sorry!”

Paxton continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “Six hundred ninety-eight people on board. Five hundred nineteen of them from Ireland,” he said grimly.

Abby reached out a hand and put it on his arm. “Paxton, that’s terrible. I’m so very sorry.”

Paxton gazed at her. “I went down to the docks every day for a month, hoping the ship would appear with a story about their trip.” His voice faltered. “It’s gone,” he said hopelessly as he shook his head. “All those lives lost. My sisters…”

Abby remained silent, knowing there was nothing to say to alleviate his suffering. She kept her hand resting on his arm, offering what little comfort she could.

“It might be for the best,” Paxton finally muttered, his eyes clearing slightly.

“What do you mean?” Abby asked.

Paxton stared at her. “Things were real bad when you were here three years ago. It’s worse now.”

Abby thought back. “You were very concerned about the conditions your family members were living in,” she remembered. She tried to recall the conditions in that part of town, but all she could see when she closed her eyes were the rampaging crowds and the cries of black people as they were beaten and murdered. She managed to control her shudder as she kept her focus on Paxton’s grief.

“They’re living in conditions not meant for animals,” he growled. “The pigs back home in Ireland lived better than my brothers and their families.” His eyes clouded over again. “I know my sisters were miserable in Ireland, but I couldn’t imagine them in that squalor. I talked to Mrs. Stratford about getting them work. She thought she had a couple of housemaid jobs lined up with some friends, but they won’t be needing them,” he said bitterly.

He stared down at the ground for several moments and then gazed back up at Abby beseechingly. “Is it wrong of me to be glad they’re gone? Ain’t nobody meant to live the way people are living down in the tenements. I’ve seen too many people that look worse off than if they were dead.”

Abby tightened her grip on his arm. “You loved your sisters,” she said softly. “You didn’t want them to suffer. I’m sorry things are so bad down there.”

Paxton sighed heavily. “They’re trying to make things a little better. I’ve heard Dr. Benson talking. They’ve cleaned up some of the filth to try to stop the cholera, but they can’t change the living conditions.”