Shifted By The Winds by Ginny Dye Read Free Book Online Page A

bounced up and down in his seat as he stuffed a big chunk of buttery biscuit in his mouth and chewed as fast as he could.
    Laughter rang through the house as the sun rose over the treetops and filled the dining room with glittering light.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
Chapter Three
     
     
     
     
    Sunlight was already streaming in through the windows when Carrie finally opened her eyes. She was confused by the feeling of hard wood beneath her until memories of the night before came flooding back. For several minutes she lay quietly, inspecting the room she had been too tired to notice the night before. The room was obviously a study. The walls were lined with elegant built-in shelves that bulged with books. Two rose-colored wingback chairs flanked a fireplace, and a massive desk was positioned so that whoever sat at it could look out the window onto the street. Remembering what Elizabeth had told her, she wondered if the desk used to look out over green pastures and trees. Surely it must be depressing to simply look out at trash and squalor now. Sounds from the street and aching muscles pulled her from her makeshift bed. In spite of what she knew she would see, she stood quietly and moved toward the window.
    “It’s gone,” Florence said sadly.
    Carrie turned. Florence was still covered by her sheet. The two had shared floor space in the study, sending their three friends off to the beds. “You’ve been up?”
    “Yes.” Fatigue made Florence’s voice gruff and her eyes revealed her grief. “There is nothing left.”
    Carrie scowled and pushed the curtains aside. There was a perfect view down the street toward Moyamensing Hall. The three-story building had been reduced to charred embers. She could tell other buildings had caught flame, but the fires had been put out before they could destroy anything else. Only the hoped-for cholera hospital had not survived. She wondered how many people had no haven to come to today. She knew it was at least fifty, but she suspected it was far more. Beds had been assembled for 150 patients. Carrie grappled with the mixture of rage and grief that consumed her. “What a waste,” she snapped. “What a total waste.”
    “Not to them,” came a quiet voice from the hallway.
    Carrie spun around to see Biddy Flannagan framed in the doorway, her tiny, erect frame almost glowing with the sunlight streaming in behind her.
    Biddy stepped into the room. “I heard you moving around, so I decided to come up.”
    Carrie was once again mesmerized by the soft glow of compassion and life in the old woman’s eyes. “I know they were scared,” she admitted. “I suppose I would have been too.”
    “Yes, they were scared,” Biddy agreed, coming to stand beside her and look out at the blackened remains. “It was more than that, though. It’s the residue of centuries of abuse for the Irish here in America,” she murmured. “There is nothing right about what they did, but sometimes you just can’t stop the anger from spewing out.”
    Carrie stared at her. “Centuries of abuse?” She searched her brain for what she knew about the Irish. It took her only moments to realize it was next to nothing, other than what Matthew had told her about their part in the riots in Memphis and New Orleans. “I don’t understand.”
    “No,” Biddy said easily. “I don’t suspect you would be knowing the truth about my people. It’s been well hidden, it has.” She looked directly into Carrie’s eyes. “It’s not been an easy life for the Irish here.”
    “You said centuries.” Florence rose from her bed and came to stand beside them. “I thought Irish immigrants just started coming over in the early part of this century.”
    Biddy laughed but there was no amusement in her voice. “Oh, they were coming for a right long time before then, lassie, but no one wants to talk much about the Irish slaves.”
    Carrie gasped. “Slaves? The Irish ?” Her brow crinkled. “I’m afraid I have no idea what