Down on the river banks, it was finally springtime, although some days it was difficult to discern as such, with the overcast skies and swirling wind the frequent markers of most days that season. Most of the powder works men and their families didn’t mind this so much, as their days on the farm back home were a not so distant memory. Without the worries of crop planting and herd protection, they didn’t give the weather much of a thought anymore. Most of their time was spent in the mill, ten hours a day, or else at home in their company housing, eating, relaxing and attending to family matters.
The only day the weather mattered much at all was on Sunday when the folks in the “village” would make their way across the river and to the parish for Mass. After Mass, if the weather was pleasant, some families might feel the urge to take a stroll in the park or even set out a blanket and have themselves a bit of a picnic. Once in a while, the ladies might take the streetcar downtown for some shopping, but most of their needs were met with the goods available to them at the company store along the river banks there. It was not so bad a life, considering the alternatives available to them at the time.
That winter it was so cold for a spell that the river froze over and some of the gents could be seen fashioning ice skates out of discarded powder kegs and metal bolts. It was all very enjoyable until one of the Kearney boys fell in to the river through some thin ice and could not be retrieved before expiring beneath the icy waters. They had eventually recovered the body later that afternoon and had a wake for him to see if he might still have some life left in him. The company doctor came to kindly offer his services, but there was nothing that could be done by that point. There was a lot wailing and eventually, as morning broke, celebrating the brief life of the poor lad. It was a terrible day, that was, and the family was still grieving as one would imagine. That was three months ago in mid-January and now that April had arrived, some residents of the riverbank millworker town tried to cheer each other up and look forward to the warmer weather ahead.
It was still too early to plant potatoes but some ladies began to think about planting a few things in the little plots behind their houses, or going down to the riverside and harvesting the wild ramps that were sure to come out soon. In the Gallagher household, they were getting excited, and worried about the upcoming wedding. Sixteen-year old Ellen had met a man in the park one day last fall, a man from the same County as them back home who worked in one of the leather factories downtown. He had taken quite a shine to her and after visiting the household on St. Patrick’s Feast Day and seeing the family in church every Sunday, Mr Gallagher had given his consent and the wedding was set for June 1st. Of course, off the record, it was Mrs. Gallagher, the “bean a ti”, who had the ultimate authority of approval and though she hated to see Ellen married off and moving out of the house, she had five other children to worry about so no sense putting up a fuss about Ellen, and she did like the man after all, though he was a bit too quiet.
Mrs. Gallagher had taken in a couple of boarders over the past year and Ellen leaving the house would give her the chance to take in one more. That extra money that came from the rents those fellows paid would help the family as they were saving up for the weddings of a couple of the other children that were sure to come soon enough. More people were arriving every week it seemed as more and more families sent for their brothers and sisters back home. The company man always said, “the more the merrier”. He was such a kind fellow, and even the men with their natural skepticism and standoffishness had eventually given in to his charms and took him at his word, especially since he was loaning the families the money to bring their kinfolk over as there was no work back home for not one of their kind.
The Gallaghers had even saved almost enough to get themselves a rowhouse away from the riverbanks. Besides the high wages due to the dangerous work, the company even provided the mill workers with interest bearing savings accounts which allowed them to capitalize, even just a bit, on the money they had saved. But Mr. Gallagher had been planning to have his sons work somewhere else besides the powder mill. Just last week, a young lad by the name of Patrick Toomey had lost both his legs in an explosion and now he was lame, unable to work and just sad as doom, sitting out on the porch in his wheelchair. Besides Toomey, there were others of course who had been caught up in an accident and he couldn’t imagine the thought of something like that happening to Thomas or John or Patrick. His wife had softened him up one Sunday so he would not put up much of a fuss when she bought the new tea set down on Market Street. But that was it, he thought, we have to save up to buy ourselves a proper house in town and no more spending. The tea set was rather nice, though, and he didn’t mind showing it off when they had guests over.
On Saturdays, if the men were playing cards and they had something to celebrate, the cups would be filled with whiskey after the first couple of cupfulls of tea had been consumed. And that was OK, as long as Mr. Dougherty was not in attendance as he tended to have quite a high threshold for drink. Now, with the wedding not but six weeks away, the family stopped having company over and buckled down. There was a lot to be purchased and plenty of preparations to be done. “Marry in April when you can, joy for maiden and for man.” Mr. Gallagher said to his wife as they sat down to supper one day after a long day of work.
“What’s that, then, John?” she replied. “You know that the wedding’s not until the First of June. And, be that as it may, I trust they will be happy nevertheless, don’t you?” Mr. Gallagher finished chewing his roast and grunted his assent. His wife continued, “You and I got married in a dirty old barn in the middle of winter and we managed to do OK for ourselves.”
“I would chalk that up to the blessing of our Lord.” Mr Gallagher replied, gesturing to the crucifix on the wall next to the kitchen table. “And don’t forget about the horseshoe above the doorway, it’s brought us a good life and all of these children.”
“Aye.” John Gallagher replied in assent once again.
He was not much for words, but he was a good man and a happy man, and he looked forward to the wedding day when he and his wife would be able to celebrate in fine fashion. Then, on that day, he would have plenty to say. He went back to the bedroom and said his prayers, asking the Lord for protection of his daughter Ellen in her future life as a wife and as a mother. Times seemed to be changing fast, but there was still not much else for a woman to be than a wife and mother. And, being that she would turn seventeen the following month, she was ready to take on those roles.
THE MOSSY BOG 