Hannah Harding knew she had a peculiar gift. Her first memory of this was when she was six years old. She attended Livingston Grade School on Lehigh Avenue.
The school was an old, red brick building that once housed a leather factory in the early 1900s. It was renovated in 1950 and purchased by the Altomare Township Board of Education, when new housing developments in Altomare necessitated more classrooms for the burgeoning student population.
Hannah had always been "squeamish" about buildings, houses and certain people. Her mother and father thought it was just a childhood phase and she'd outgrow it. On her first school day, she carried on so, that her mother had to struggle to get the little girl up the school sidewalk to her kindergarten classroom. Hannah cried and screamed hysterically. Other school shy children did too...just not for the same reason as Hannah.
Realizing there was no escape from the inevitable, Hannah endured the awful sense of doom being inside the walls of Livingston Grade School imposed on her.
Her kindergarten teacher, Lydia Ryman, suggested Mr. and Mrs. Harding take Hannah for a physical checkup. Miss Ryman told Hannah's parents their little girl seemed "nervous" all the time and unable to focus on the work given her.
Laura Harding took Hannah to their family, doctor, Henry Morton, the town's best pediatrician and general practitioner. He found nothing physically wrong with Hannah, other than being too thin.
Hannah had always been a picky eater and was constantly reminded by her parents, not to "waste her food." She imagined all sorts of bizarre things in her food that made her stomach roil.
She was the only child of John and Laura Harding for approximately six years. Her siblings, Jackie and Lizzie, arrived shortly before Hannah started school. Jackie first and two years later, Lizzie. Hannah felt relieved to have a brother and sister. Now at least, she didn't feel so alone.
Her brother, Jackie, was an adventurer in a way Hannah had never been and Lizzie would never be. Hannah was amused her brother always found myriad things to pique his curiosity. To Hannah, Baby Lizzie was like one of her stuffed animals, soft, cuddly and full of funny facial expressions.
Having siblings took the edge off the terror Hannah inexplicably felt for Livingston School. But, only slightly. Hannah couldn't help the feeling of being watched and not just by Miss Ryman, other teachers or the school principal, Lawrence Creedman.
Whenever the girls were allowed a "lavatory break," Hannah went pale. There was something about being inside the "girls room," that made Hannah feel as if a horrible event occurred there she struggled to remember.
It was as if something in her mind forced her to try and remember a long forgotten event. It pained Hannah so; she literally felt a knot in her chest. Other girls in her class thought she was peculiar for her soft-footed padding about in the girls room...as if she might wake the dead. She tried not to make herself conspicuous.
By the time she reached the seventh grade, Hannah Harding was sure there was something very wrong about Livingston School.
Her favorite past time was to walk to the public library two blocks from the Harding home on Appleby Avenue.
History was her favorite subject. Her seventh grade project was to write an historical essay about her state. She mentally inhaled as much as she could about the history of the state, towns and Altomare.
She took notes feverishly.
She found that Altomare was once the site of several large factories in the early 1900s. There were smelting, leather and textile manufacturing businesses. They no longer existed. Hannah wondered why. In her research for her school project, she discovered a railroad line once linked Altomare to bigger cities and ports where factory goods were shipped. It too was gone.
She studied the location of these factories and the railroad carefully on an old map she found in the Altomare Historical Museum on Warner Street.
Hannah instinctively shriveled on entering the museum.
This place gives me the willies, she thought.
Each time she leafed through a book or historical map, she had a peculiar sense of deja vu. As she sat down at the long oak table, she found the names of familiar streets on an old map.
Lehigh Avenue caught her eye. She noticed there had been a branch railroad track that ran off the main track and traversed near her school.
How can that be?, she wondered.
During their lunch break, Hannah walked to the furthest point of the playground to see if remnants of the railroad track were still embedded in the soil.
"What are you looking for Hannah Harding?" Patty Dorich, a classmate asked.
"I'm working on our history project," Hannah answered, deliberately ambiguously.
"You're weird, Hannah Harding. You know that?" Patty said.
"I'm just checking out something that used to be here," Hannah said.
Patty shrugged and returned to her group of school chums.
The school bell rang. Lunch break was over. Students formed single lines and began to enter the school building again.
Hannah looked up at the school and looked away quickly. She felt her stomach roil again.
Hannah worked diligently on her school project. Jackie chided his sister that she was a "perfectionist."
"That's because you are careless," Hannah countered.
"You are careless, Jackie," Lizzie said, taking her sister's side, as usual.
Jackie knew when he was outnumbered. He made haste to find his basketball. Hannah and Lizzie were sure he was off to find his friends when they heard the kitchen door slam closed.
"What are you studying, Hannah?" Lizzie asked.
"What our town was like a long time ago," Hannah said.
"What was it like a long time ago? Where there bears and wild animals? Were there mean people here?" Lizzie continued.
"Something like that. Lizzie, I'm going to tell you a secret. But, you have to cross your heart and hope to die if you tell anyone else, okay?" Hannah said.
"Okay. I cross my heart and hope to die I will never tell your secret," Lizzie said.
"Here...look at this. It's an old drawing of our town a very, long time ago," Hannah said.
She spread out a photocopy she made of Altomare she'd found in the library.
"Oh my! It doesn't look like our town now, does it?" Lizzie said.
"I should say not. Look, there's not even a Livingston Public School in the photo," Hannah said.
"Well...where is it?" Lizzie asked.
"Here...see? It's this building. It was a leather factory named Oldman Leather," Hannah said.
"What's a...a...leather factory do?" Lizzie asked.
"It's where they used to make hides into leather things. You know...coats, vests, skirts and saddles for horses and oh, lots of other things," Hannah said.
"Well, what happened to it? The leather factory, I mean," Lizzie asked.
"Don't know. At first, I thought the factory moved to another place. That's what businesses do sometimes, Lizzie."
Lizzie nodded her blonde head and tousled her ringlets. The little girl saw the intense expression on Hannah's face. She'd seen it before.
"What's your secret about Hannah?"
"I think something really bad happened in Livingston School when it was Oldman Leather," Hannah said.
"Why do you think that?"
"That's the secret I want to you to never tell anyone."
Lizzie's expression told Hannah her little sister was confused.
"Lizzie, I don't know why. I just know I can tell when things are not right. Mommy calls that "intuition," Hannah said.
"Do I have intuition?" Lizzie asked.
"I think we all do. I just think I have the kind of intuition where I see and hear things other people don't," Hannah said.
"Like when the phone rings and you tell Mommy who it is before she picks up the phone?" Lizzie asked.
"Yes. Like that. Only when I'm in Livingston School, I know something awful happened there a long, long time ago," Hannah said.
"What do you think it was?" Lizzie asked.
"That's what I'm going to find out. No one in Altomare seems to know anything about Oldman Leather because it was such a long time ago...even before Grandma and Grandpa's time, I think."
"Maybe, Grandma and Grandpa know what happened?"
Lizzie wasn't far off the mark. Hannah beamed with joy at the idea her little sister had just given her.
"Of course, who'd know better about Oldman Leather than Grandpa Jenkins?" Hannah exclaimed.
At dinner that evening, Hannah asked if the family could visit Grandma and Grandpa Jenkins, their material grandparents.
John Harding was amused.
"You WANT to visit your grandparents, Hannah?"
Jackie wrinkled his nose in dissent. Lizzie clapped her hands.
"Yay...We're going to visit Grandma and Grandpa," Lizzie said.
"Whoa girls! We didn't even call your grandparents to say we'd visit," John Harding said.
"I'm sure my parents will be thrilled. I'll call mother tonight and ask if it's okay," Laura Harding said.
The following weekend, the Harding family packed into their station wagon and drove to the neighboring town of Carlisle where Michael and Grace Jenkins lived.
As usual, Grace Jenkins prepared a meal fit for royalty. After dinner, Hannah and Lizzie helped clear away the dishes. Grace noticed her eldest granddaughter was preoccupied.
As if reading Hannah's thoughts, Grace asked,
"Something on your mind, Hannah?"
"Grandma, did you live in Altomare when you were my age?" Hannah asked.
"I surely did. My family lived in Altomare for more than one hundred and fifty years, I'm proud to tell you," Grace responded.
"Did Grandpa live in Altomare too?" Hannah asked.
"Why yes. Your Grandfather lived near Lehigh Avenue, a few blocks from your school, child," Grace answered.
"Did you both go to Livingston School?" she asked.
"Yes. We did. Course, that was a long time ago and the school building wasn't on Lehigh Avenue then."
"Where was it located?" Hannah asked.
"It was just a one-room schoolhouse behind the church on Grand Avenue."
Grace Jenkins knew what her granddaughter's next question would be an answered before she asked it.
"In my school days, there was just one teacher and there were no grades like you have now," Grace said.
"Did your mother and father go to Livingston school?" Hannah asked.
"No. My grandmother, your great grandmother didn't go to school."
"Which school did she attend then?"
"No school. In those days, my grandmother was only allowed to attend something called "Normal School" and girls could only go as far as sixth grade," Grace said.
"Then what?" Hannah asked.
"Then, most of them took jobs."
"Jobs? What kind of jobs?" Hannah asked.
"Whatever was available. In Altomare, girls took jobs in Barnards Textile factory."
"Did Great Grandmother work in the textile factory in Altomare?"
"Yes. She did," Grace replied.
Hannah noticed her grandmother's voice seemed to trail off, as if she was distracted.
"Did Great Grandfather work in the textile factory?" Lizzie asked, absently.
Hannah smiled at the little girl's interest in family history.
"No. Your great grandfather and your grandfather, worked in the leather factory. It was an awful, awful job. They were always sick from the tanning fluids," Grace Jenkins said.
"Well, thank you girls for helping with the dishes. You are both good little helpers," Grace said, winking at Laura.
She reached into her flowered apron pocket and handed each of the girls a dollar bill.
"When you work hard, you should be paid for your work," Grace said, with a wide grin.
Hannah and Lizzie hugged their grandmother and thanked her for their new found wealth.
"Now, run along you two. Your mother and I have a lot of catching up to do," Grace said.
Hannah knew where she was headed. She needed to speak to her grandfather.
"Laura, why is Hannah asking so many questions about that bad patch in Altomare?" Grace asked.
"Oh, Mother, she's just getting information for her school project," Laura said.
"You didn't tell her what I told you about that leather factory, did you?" Grace asked.
"No. She's too young to understand. Besides, it was such a long time ago. There's no one surviving who remembers that old story," Laura said.
"It's not a story. And, if my mother, bless her soul, was here, she would tell you it's something all school children should know to prevent such a thing from ever happening again," Grace said.
"Mother, they're too young for such gory details. Least said, soonest mended, you always say, remember?"
Grace Jenkins nodded in agreement, though her facial expression indicated disagreement.
Hannah sat down on the porch glider next to her grandfather.
"Grandpa, I asked Grandma about your father, my Great Grandfather Jenkins...when he worked in the leather factory. I'm working on a school project. Do you remember when your father worked there?" Hannah asked.
"I remember how sick he was nearly every day, how sick most of the men who worked there were. It was only when that factory closed that people in Altomare realized what was really going on," Michael Jenkins said.
Michael Jenkins was a big, burly man who towered over his petite wife by nearly two feet. His hair was as white as a ghost. Hannah always felt safe in her grandfather's presence. She wasn't sure why.
"Why did the factory close?" Hannah asked.
"Why child, it went out of business. And then...there was that messy affair between the town and the factory owners. You wouldn't understand," Grandfather said.
"Grandfather, did something bad happen?" Hannah asked bluntly.
"Dear child, bad things happen all the time. It's over and done with. All of the people in Altomare who lived during that bad patch are gone, my parents included. It was only after the factories were closed we saw the true damage they'd done. Better leave it alone, child."
"Hannah? How did you know about the leather factory?" Michael Jenkins asked.
"I saw it in an old photo in the historical museum," Hannah said.
"I didn't think there were any photos like that. Are there any others? Or news clippings?"
"Only that one photo of the town. It's brown colored with age now," Hannah said.
"No, Hannah. That's a sepia photo. It's the kind of film they used back then...in those old box cameras," Grandfather said.
Hannah reminded herself to find old news clippings, if any existed, about the factories.
All during summer vacation, Hannah felt as if she was living in another time. As if she'd been propelled backward and could see things in her mind like sudden pictures flashing across her brain. Hannah struggled to find old news clippings and foraged around in the museum and library so often, the museum curator and head librarian remarked how she was becoming a town landmark.
Perplexed by her lack of sufficient information, she walked over to the library's reference desk.
"Can you help me, please? I'm looking for old news clippings from around 1890 to 1920," Hannah said.
"Any historical news clippings we have are on the micro fiche reader. You might want to try that," the librarian said.
She walked Hannah to the micro fiche machine. Seeing her confusion about how to use the micro fiche reader, the librarian came to her aid.
"You just slip this micro film into the dispenser and press this button. When you are ready to look at the clippings, you turn this little knob. Turn it right to go forward, left to go back," the librarian said.
"The oldest news clippings are on micro film to protect them from damage. They are just really copies of originals. The little box with the micro films are sorted according to year.
There was only one newspaper in Altomare back in the 1890s, The Altomare Advance. If you look at the editorial box, it will tell you who the editor-in-chief was and who the journalists were," the librarian added.
"Thank you. You have been a lot of help," Hannah said.
Hannah wasn't sure what she was looking for. It seemed amusing to her to see news and advertisements on a single sheet of paper. She noticed the Altomare Advance cost only five cents and the first ever printing was in July 1887. A smile crossed her lips when she saw that a loaf of bread cost a nickle and a bar of soap cost three cents. When she finished flipping through the first micro film, she felt dismayed.
There was no mention of a textile, leather or smelting business. There was just an ad for Hellman's General Store and Brightman's Notions. Hannah wondered what "notions" were.
When she inserted the next micro film, she saw what she was looking for. The headline read, "Altomare to be home to Barnards Textiles and Lathrop's Smelting." No mention was made about the leather factory.
Could be they didn't locate in Altomare until later, she reasoned.
She read the article, a single paragraph about Barnards Textiles. The business promised to bring new jobs to Altomare. In return, Altomare would approve a rail line connection to allow Barnards to ship out hundreds of bolts of textiles every day. The owner of Barnards Textiles was listed as Thomas Bettencrew. It gave the location of the new factory as Lehigh Avenue.
When she flipped through the next news article, it announced the opening of Lathrop's Smelting and Ores. It was located on Pennington Street, one block from Lehigh Avenue where Lehigh and Pennington Streets abutted Lincoln Boulevard, the main artery in Altomare. Here, the rail line would link Lincoln Boulevard, Lehigh, Pennington and Warner Streets in a neat design to facilitate the needs of the town and the factories.
Hannah continued to read. Lathrop's was originally located upstate. They moved to Altomare to take advantage of the rail line proximity. She continued to flip through the micro film. She was seeking more information on the leather factory in Altomare where Great Grandfather Jenkins worked. She sighed heavily and continued her search.
Finally, she found what she was looking for: a news announcement of Oldman Leathers moving to Altomare from its Boston location. It was also located on Lehigh Avenue, like Barnards Textiles. She read about the owners and their plans to produce leather goods that would "put Altomare on the map." She realized she'd found most of what she expected to read about these three old manufacturing businesses. What she had yet to discover might not be in old newspapers.
Grandfather said there was a "messy affair" between the leather factory and the town, she thought.
She rose from the table where she was viewing news archives on micro film and walked to the reference librarian's desk.
"Did you find what you were looking for?" the librarian asked.
"Not quite. Where would I find articles about Altomare?"
"Are you looking for news articles from the same time period?" the librarian asked.
"Yes."
"Altomare's newspaper is "The Altomare Star," although that wasn't the original name. You can check that more easily by searching our old newspaper micro films. They are located on the shelves behind the table where you were sitting."
"Thank you," Hannah said.
"It's nearly 4 PM, we will be closing soon. Do you expect to be much longer?"
"I can come back tomorrow," Hannah said.
The librarian's expression was one of amusement. Such a young school student with such interest in history. Adele Lanning had been the reference librarian for all of her sixty-odd years. She never remembered a student who spent as much time in the library as Hannah Harding.
Teachers in Livingston School wouldn't believe the amount of time one of their students spent here. Adele pondered what kind of project Hannah was working on for her school project. Thus far, she wanted to know about the oldest businesses in Altomare and this day, she asked for news articles about the town. For the life of her, Adele Lanning couldn't imagine what it was the girl would write about. She pondered this as she walked home that autumn evening.
There was a chill in the air and leaves had already begun to fall, leaving the trees looking like stark, grey skeletons. She wondered if Hannah Harding would come to the library the next day, seeing as it was "Mischief Night" after twilight.
Mischief Night in Altomare was rarely more than a few rolls of tissue paper strewn like streamers from trees and a few overturned trash cans the older children in the town called "mischief." Still, the Altomare patrolmen made certain Mischief Night would not escalate into something more destructive.
Hannah showed up at the library after school as Adele Lanning knew she would. She poured over microfilms and old newspapers in the library archives. She was told she had to wear white gloves to look at newspapers older than thirty years of age.
Adele Lanning told the girl the oils in human hands deteriorated the delicate condition of old newspapers. Hannah donned a pair of white gloves. She looked specifically for articles about the town and those factories.
What caught her eye in the oldest newspaper was a headline that read:
"Child dies at Barnards"
The date of the newspaper was October 7, 1905. She continued to read the article:
Ten year old, Timothy Harrigan, of Altomare, died while at his job at Barnards Textile Factory. The accident is under investigation by Altomare police. He will be laid to rest at St. Anselm Cemetery."
Hannah was puzzled. There was no further information in the following month's news articles about the boy's death. Flipping through these, something caught her eye.
It was another news article about a second child's death, Harry Dodd, seven, this time at the Oldman Leather factory. The article was similar in lack of news about the cause of these children's deaths. Hannah thought that odd. She sat at the table feeling as if a wave of cold passed over her entire body. She shivered.
It's just these news articles about these two children's deaths, she thought.
She had been warned by her mother to make certain she left the library by 3 PM. Laura Harding didn't want her daughter to be out on the street on Mischief Night. If Hannah left the library at closing time, she'd be walking home in twilight, Laura reasoned.
Hannah's mind was swirling with ideas. Both children died in those factories. Was this what grandfather meant about "that messy affair between the town and the factory owners?" That didn't quite add up in the girl's mind, as she walked back home dutifully at the appointed hour as instructed by her mother.
That night, Hannah dreamed she was in a large, brick building. She saw women and children busy at work on giant-sized looms. She saw a tow-headed little boy busily minding the bobbins. Then, ruby colored thread at the base of the loom began to snag wildly. The little boy tried to clear the thread from the loom when the loom frame buckled at the top and landed on top of the child. She saw in her dream, blood pouring from his head and back and one of his arms stuck between the thread feed and the loom. She heard his screams and then deadly silence.
Hannah awoke screaming.
"Hannah! What's wrong?" Lizzie asked.
"Had a horrible, horrible dream," she responded.
"What was it about?" Lizzie asked.
"Can't tell you. You'd have a nightmare like I did," Hannah said.
Laura Harding opened the door to the girls' bedroom.
"Hannah, what on earth is the matter?" she asked.
"I had a really bad dream, Mother," Hannah said.
"Are you alright, now?"
"Yes. Can you stay with me for a few minutes...until I fall back to sleep?" Hannah asked.
"Certainly. What was the dream about, Hannah?"
"I can't tell you. It was too awful. I'll tell you tomorrow," Hannah said.
"You'll have forgotten all about it by then," her mother said, soothingly.
Hannah wasn't likely to forget this dream for a long time to come. She would be reminded of it every time she entered her school building. Now, she knew why she always had the willies when she was in that building. Her school was the site of a child's death. She felt certain of it.
The next day was Halloween. Lizzie was eager to go "Trick or Treating" in her pretty, pink princess costume.
Hannah had what she called "dream auras." These were leftovers from her dreams the night before. This day, she felt as if she was still dreaming. She "saw" the dream playing out like a movie on a film reel, while she was awake.
Sometimes, these dream auras lasted several days. It made her jittery and unusually aware of little things others didn't or couldn't see. Like the cry of a bird on the wind or the screech of crickets and seemingly, only to Hannah, unusually loud frogs croaking along the river bank.
Often, clouds overhead seemed to form shapes as if they were reminders of things she'd seen in her dream. She didn't fear bad dreams as much as she feared dream auras. She knew they meant something.
When she was four years old, she'd had a dream she was trapped in a red brick building and was running and running to escape from something she couldn't see. The day she entered kindergarten, she saw the same red brick building. It was the one she'd seen in her dream the year before and tried to escape.
These kinds of things happened often. She'd have a dream and then everything in the dream would become real. Hannah never told anyone. She was afraid no one would believe her.
She knew the dream last night had meaning too. She was old enough now to know that something about the information she found in the newspaper article about the boys who died was tied to the nightmare she'd had the night before. In the deepest of her senses, she sensed danger.
Hannah was preoccupied as she took Lizzie door to door. The smaller child filled a pillow case with treats. Then, tt was nearly time for dinner. The two girls walked the entire length of Appleby Avenue, up James Street to Warner Street. As they approached Lehigh Avenue and the school, Hannah noticed the sky turned bright pink.
"We'd better hurry back home. Mother will be furious if we are late for dinner," Hannah said.
"Why can't we go just a little further?" Lizzie begged.
"I just told you why. Let's go. The sky is getting darker."
When Hannah looked up at the sky again, it changed from pink to scarlet. Her expression wasn't missed by Lizzie.
"What's wrong, Hannah?"
"The sky...it's the color of blood now," Hannah said.
"Ewww!" Lizzie screamed.
"C'mon...I'll race you home," Hannah said.
"What's that sound, Lizzie?"
"What sound?"
"Don't you hear it? It sounds like a baby crying," Hannah said.
"I don't hear anything."
Lizzie shrugged and waited for Hannah to start walking.
Hannah was certain she heard that sound. She hurried Lizzie back home.
She knew what the sound was. It wasn't a baby crying. It was a child. The child who died in the Oldman Leather factory? Her second sight propelled her backward until she saw her school as it once was...The Oldman building.
The sound Hannah heard was the same sound she'd heard in the girls' room. It was the reason she never went into that room alone.
Hannah hoped her sister would forget all about the sound she thought she heard. The two girls set the table together, with Hannah eyeing Lizzie now and then.
The family sat down to dinner.
"Did you fill up your pillow case with Treats?...or Tricks?" Mr. Harding asked.
"Oh yes, Daddy. Hannah and I walked and walked until my legs were tired. Then, on our way home, Hannah heard a little kid crying in school" Lizzie blurted out.
"Little kid?" John Harding asked.
"Yes. First, the sky turned bloody red. Then, Hannah heard a little kid crying," Lizzie added.
"Hannah? What is your sister talking about?" Laura Harding asked.
"I just imagined it. It was probably the October wind blowing past the building," Hannah said.
She knew it was wrong to lie. She chose her words carefully.
"I filled up my pillow case all the way to the top," Jackie announced proudly.
"Wow, I hope you don't think you'll be eating all of that candy in one night," John Harding admonished.
"Course not. I want to save as much of it as I can," Jackie said.
"Actually, I think you will share it, all of it...yours and Lizzie's with your sister," Laura Harding said.
"But why, Mother? Hannah didn't want to put on a costume this year. Why do we have to share?" Jackie asked.
John Harding raised his eyebrows at his son.
The little boy knew not to pursue the subject any further.
After supper was cleared away, Hannah finished her homework and decided to review notes she wrote for her project. Her eyes grew heavy. Hannah readied herself for sleep. She passed by the window of her bedroom dressed in a white nightgown and stopped. She glanced briefly out the window. Lizzie was already sound asleep.
She felt as if she was frozen in place before the window. When she looked out at the dark of night, she saw wind swirling the few remaining leaves on the giant oak and sycamore tree in the Harding's side yard. She watched the withered leaves floating on the wind.
Then, she thought something moved behind the sycamore's trunk.
Just my imagination, she thought.
She peered more intently at the sycamore. She felt icy cold even though the window was shut tightly.
Still staring out the window, a strange, whitish, gust of wind swirled right in front of the tree trunk. The wind died down slightly. She nearly screamed aloud at what she saw...a vaporous, cloudy column no more than five feet high. She watched intently as the strange sight floated midpoint between the tree trunk and her window.
Hannah had never been so afraid in her life. Yet, she was unwilling to call for her mother. The cloud moved slowly until she clearly saw its true form: a little boy beckoning her. Hannah stood as still as a statue. She opened the window slowly and carefully so as not to awaken anyone.
Her bedroom was at ground level. She knew she could slip out the window and see whether this was a Halloween joke. The form of the little boy beckoned again.
There's nothing to be afraid of. He's just a little boy. Maybe, he got lost in the dark, Hannah thought.
She lowered herself outside the window and jumped to ground level, nearly twisting her ankle. When she stood up, the figure was still there.
"Who are you?" Hannah whispered softly.
"I was Harry Dodd in life. I am one of the children who died like Timothy Harrigan. You know how he died. You saw his death in your dream," the soft voice said.
Hannah thought she was dreaming and the voice was just the wind.
"You must tell everyone why we died. Why all the other children died...we were poisoned or hurt by the machines. You must not let the truth be buried...no matter who it hurts," the vision said.
"Harry Dodd? The little boy hurt in that accident at The Oldman Leather factory...a long time ago?" Hannah queried.
The vision seemed to float backward into the trunk of the tree. Hannah walked up to the tree trunk and ran her hand along its rough surface. But, the vision was gone.
She should have felt extremely frightened. She had only a vague sense of being out in the chill Halloween night air. She looked over her shoulder and realized she better hurry back to her room before anyone saw her.
She gathered her nightgown about her knees and climbed back into the window. Once inside, she felt her entire body trembling. She closed the window again slowly and carefully.
The next morning, Hannah sat silently at the breakfast table. She could barely eat a morsel.
"Hannah? Are you not feeling well?" her mother asked.
"I'm fine Mother. I need to go to the library and museum. My project is nearly finished," she said.
"Well, be sure to wear a warm jacket. You look pale...as if you'd seen a ghost," Laura Harding said.
"I'm fine, Mother. Really, I am."
Hannah was going to go to the library and museum. But first, there was another place she had to go...The cemetery. Harry Dodd's grave had to be there. St. Anselm's Cemetery was located only one half block north of the museum. It was the only cemetery in Altomare and the oldest. She would walk on past the museum without anyone knowing.
When she arrived at the tall, glossy black wrought iron gates, they were opened full wide as if to welcome her. She'd never been inside the gates of a cemetery before. She saw a brass plate on the gate with an alphabetical list of where graves were located.
The brass plate was worn and old. She could barely read the list. Using her index finger as a guide, she found the "Ds." The arrow beside it pointed east. She walked up a slight hill lined with tall, now bare trees, to her right and followed it along.
Few of the graves were new. She took note of the dates on the gravestones. Some were as old as 1805. She had to walk up another, curved incline to find Harry Dodd's grave. The white marble gravestone was so weather-worn. The engravings on it were barely legible.
She stood at the foot of the grave site for a few minutes. She felt the return of the dream aura, as if a lightening bolt had struck. In the reverie of the aura, she saw people standing around Harry Dodd's grave: a woman, dressed in black holding a crying little girl's hand, a tall man holding a black top hat in hand and his head bowed and several other men and women.
She saw cemetery workmen lower the small coffin into the ground. Then, dirt and flowers covering it. What she saw next sent her running out of the cemetery as fast as she could.
Harry Dodd seemed to be standing over his coffin.
Hannah ran all the way to the museum. Once inside, she checked the historical archives again for names of other children as Harry Dodd told her to do the night before.
It appeared that many papers and documents in the museum were donated by Altomare families after their parents or grandparents died and left antiques and such behind. Hannah flipped through one box after another wearing white gloves the museum curator insisted she wear.
When she opened one cardboard box, there was a family bible. The museum usually kept all family bibles in special metal boxes sorted on several shelves.
Hannah wondered why this Bible wasn't in a metal box. She noticed there was a bookmark on one of the pages. She flipped to the bookmarked page.
It wasn't a bookmark at all. It was a photograph of five children. One of them was Harry Dodd! There were two other boys, one older than the others and taller, and two little girls about Lizzie's age or maybe, older. She turned the photograph over.
In a thinly scrawled handwriting, the word "RIP" was written. Hannah wondered if anyone knew the photo was stuck inside the Bible.
Hannah was mature enough to realize she inadvertently reopened a closed wound in Altomare's history. She wasn't sure what she should do. If she pursued her project to final completion, it might cause problems for her or members of her family. She'd always been told by her teachers to feel free to ask for help if they needed it. Maybe she should ask her teacher what she should do?
Having seen the ghost of Harry Dodd on Halloween, she was terrorized by the thought of going back into the very building were a boy had been killed. Worse, she realized now Altomare was a town with a horrible secret.
Should she tell her parents about the information she found? She placed the old photograph back in the Bible where she'd found it. She could always make a copy of it later. She walked over to the library from the museum.
Pieces of what Harry Dodd's spirit had said began to fit into the words of her Grandfather Jenkins. Grandfather must have known about the deaths of Altomare children. Yet, he seemed to avoid talking in detail about it.
Hannah felt as if she was standing at the edge of a cliff and a monster was about to push her over it.
At the library, she went directly to the reference section. She needed to know who the important men of Altomare were when the factories came to town.
"Ah, Hannah Harding, you're back then?" Adele Lanning said.
"Uh...yes. Mrs. Lanning, are there old records of mayors and such here?" Hannah asked.
Adele Lanning was pleased the child was so interested in the history of Altomare.
"Why yes, child. We've kept our records of the town's governing body since it's start. Look over on the reference shelves with the label "government" above it," Adele Lanning said.
Adele knew Hannah was onto something more than just the history of Altomare's government. For the life of her, she couldn't seem to figure out what the connection was with the other news articles Hannah had been looking at on micro film for weeks now.
Hannah took out her notepad and pen and started to take notes. She jumped from the name of the first mayor, Henry Mitchell, to the year 1899 when Lloyd Lanning was mayor. At least now, she could connect Mayor Manning to the year the factories were in operation in Altomare. She rose from the library table and walked to the newspaper micro films.
What if the paper deliberately refused to print any bad news about children dying in Altomare? she wondered. Hannah flipped through the earliest news reports to anything she could find about the factories. There was nothing.
Frustrated, she flipped the lever on the micro film machine so fast it stopped automatically at the year 1910. Here, several reports from four other national papers had shocking headlines.
"Children die in Altomare Factories,"
"Investigation into Altomare Children's Deaths"
"Lanning Held Responsible for Factory Deaths"
"Altomare Parents Seek Justice for Children's Deaths,"
Hannah felt as if she'd struck gold. She wondered if it was really an accident of her own frustration finding these reports or...She shuddered. She didn't want to think Harry Dodd's spirit had anything to do with it.
She took notes furiously. Each report led to another and another, until finally it led to a court report holding Mayor Lanning, Oldman, Barnards Textiles and Lathrop Smelting responsible for the deaths of five Altomare children in those factories. Now, finally she understood why Grandfather didn't want to talk about this.
Reading those news reports, she realized in those days children often worked hours as long as their parents in factories that were unsafe. Children were allowed to operate dangerous machinery. That was how Harry Dodd died. But, was that the only reason?
Hannah knew her keen sense told her it wasn't. The spirit of Harry Dodd couldn't rest. The first dream she had wasn't about Harry Dodd. It was about Timothy Harrigan. He must have been crushed by that textile loom. She remembered Timothy Harrigan died in 1907. Was he the first of the five children to die? Or, the last? Were there more than just five?
Hannah spent the next three days searching the obituary sections of the Altomare papers. She narrowed the time frame down to the years 1900 to 1912. She found Timothy Harrigan was the last of the reported deaths. Other obituaries fit the number of children in the photo she saw in that family bible in the museum.
No obituary was found for Harry Dodd. From the notes she collected, reports of children's deaths began in 1904 and ended in 1907. In a four-year period of time, four children died in Barnards Textiles and Lathrop Smelting. Only Harry Dodd and Oldman Leather was missing from news reports.
Why? Hannah wondered.
What was it Grandfather Jenkins had said? "Oldman went out of business. And then, there was that messy affair between the town and factory owners."
What did Grandfather mean? He said she wouldn't understand. Was that really it? Or, was it Grandfather protecting her from awful details? Hannah wondered.
She knew Grandfather Jenkins well enough to know he'd never tell her more than he had to.
She had an idea.
A day later, she heard her father speaking to Grandfather Harding on the phone.
She tugged gently on John Harding's sleeve.
"What is it, Hannah?" John asked.
"When you are through, may I speak to Grandfather Harding?" she asked.
John Harding was pleased and puzzled at once.
Of late, his daughter seemed inordinately willing to talk to her grandparents. From what his wife's parents told him, Hannah was asking questions about Altomare's past.
He knew he shouldn't set a bad example for his children by eavesdropping when he handed Hannah the phone. But, he couldn't jeopardize his child's safety...not even for a school project.
"Grandfather, hello. How are you?"
"I'm fine Hannah and you?"
"I wonder if you'd help me with my school project," Hannah asked.
"Why certainly. You know I will help in any way I can," Grandfather Jack Harding said.
"You promise?" Hannah continued.
"Absolutely. Cross my heart," Grandfather Harding said.
"When you were a little boy, where did Great Grandfather Harding work?" Hannah asked, pointedly.
"Why...where most men in Altomare worked...in the factories. Those factories kept families from starving," he said.
"Which factory did Great Grandfather work in?" Hannah asked.
"Oldman...just like your Great Grandfather Jenkins. Altomare is...was...a small town in those days. Now I think about it, that's how he met your mother's Great Grandfather. He worked on the production line and your Great Grandfather Jenkins worked in mixing. Least ways, that's what I was always told."
"Why did Oldman leave town?" Hannah asked.
"Well child, back in those days, a girl like you or even little Jackie worked in factories alongside their parents. Course, now there are laws that don't allow that. Your Great Grandfather was just a teenager when he worked there. All young men did. Though, I do think my Grandfather was just a wee bit younger."
"Hannah? What exactly do you need for that school project?" Jack Harding asked.
"I need to know why Harry Dodd died at Oldman," Hannah blurted out.
"How on earth did you come to that information?" Jack Harding asked.
"I'm doing my school project on Altomare history. I found records in the library and museum about those factories and the children who died there."
There was a long silence from Jack Harding.
"I'm not sure your father would want me to tell you about Harry Dodd," Jack Harding said, more sternly.
"Oh please, Grandfather. It's the last piece of information I need."
"Yes, but...if I tell you, you have to promise you won't do more than present it to your teacher."
"I promise."
"Well, Harry Dodd was just a little boy when his father brought him to Oldman to work. As told to me by my father, Harry Dodd was nearly the last little boy hired. He was going to work the tanning presses. That's where leather hides are pressed thin.
First, hides are stripped of hair, fats and other unwanted fibers. Then, they are cured in a vat filled with chemicals that break down the hides so they are thin enough to be pressed. In those days, a large machine...like your grandmother's old ironing mangle, clamped hides really tight. Rollers, like on Grandmother's wringer washer, revolved...to flatten and press hides thin so they could be made into other things," Jack Harding explained.
"Did Harry Dodd die because of the tanning pressing machine?" Hannah asked.
"No. He...well...he died from chemicals used to tan leather."
"But, if he worked in pressing, how did he die from chemicals?" Hannah asked.
"Another man got his son hired...the nephew of George Oldman, the owner. Harry Dodd's job was given to him. My father told us about how the Harry's father got into it with the owner over that. Harry Dodd's father was furious his son would have to work near chemical vats. The Oldman building didn't have windows, mostly just a large bay door that couldn't always be kept wide open when weather was bad. It was chemical fumes killed Harry Dodd.
There was no consoling Harry's father over his son's death. He went so far as to try and get Oldman shut down. But, the mayor at that time was a good friend of George Oldman. The whole episode was squashed.
For a long time, no one but the Dodd family knew how Harry died. If you go reporting what I've told you, you might set off a few alarm bells best kept silenced."
"I see Grandfather. I'll try to write my school project without ..."setting off any alarm bells" as you say," Hannah said.
Now, finally Hannah knew why Harry Dodd haunted her. She knew what Grandfather Harding meant about alarm bells. Yet, she also knew Harry Dodd's spirit would never rest in peace. He was the only child whose death was kept secret.
Hannah wrote her school report. She felt as if there was a fire inside of her and she couldn't put it out as words flowed across the pages.
She finished the project, adding an epilogue of information on Child Labor Laws, hoping Harry Dodd's spirit would be satisfied.
It wasn't.
Hannah sensed the presence of Harry Dodd the minute she walked into Livingston Grade School. She felt as if he was always just a few steps behind her own.
One morning, Hannah's teacher, Mrs. Furman, asked to speak with Hannah "in the hall." Hannah thought she'd done something wrong, as any student would.
"Hannah, I want to congratulate you on a fine essay and report on Altomare. I have just one question. Where did you get this information about the children in the factories?" Mrs. Furman asked.
"Some of it came from my Grandfather Harding and some, from Grandfather Jenkins. Some of it came from the library and museum," she answered.
"And where did your Grandfathers get this information?"
"Well, both of their fathers and they worked in those factories," Hannah said.
She looked askance momentarily from her teacher. To her right, she sensed Harry Dodd's spirit.
"Is anything wrong Hannah?" Mrs. Furman asked.
"Uh..no. No, Mrs. Furman," she replied.
"You seem preoccupied."
"I'm just a little tired, Mrs. Furman. Halloween weekend and all...you know," Hannah said.
"Oh. Did you go Trick or Treating?"
"No. I'm too old for that, I think. I took my little sister, Lizzie, out for Tricks or Treats, though."
"You know if you have any problems, I am happy to help you if I can," Mrs. Furman said.
"Actually, Mrs. Furman, there is something..."
"Yes? And what is that?"
"One of the boys who died in the Oldman factory...there's more to the story of his death than I wrote. Grandfather Harding cautioned me that it might cause trouble if I wrote about it," Hannah said.
"Why is that Hannah?"
"Because the reason for the boy's death was never mentioned publicly," Hannah said.
"Hannah, you're confusing me," Mrs. Furman said.
"His name was Harry Dodd. He worked at Oldman when he was very young. He was hired to work on the leather pressers. Then, the owner's nephew was given that job and Harry was sent to work near the chemical vats. According to my Grandfather Harding, Harry was killed by chemical fumes. I just don't think that's the real reason," Hannah said.
"Why do you think that?" Mrs. Furman asked.
As if guided by the spirit of Harry Dodd, Hannah's words seemed to speak through her from him.
"Harry Dodd isn't a rested spirit. He can't rest until the truth of his death is exposed," Hannah said.
"Hannah Harding! I do believe you are overreacting and your imagination has gotten the better of you," Mrs. Furman declared.
"Mrs. Furman, this school building was once the old Oldman factory."
"Are you absolutely certain of this, Hannah?"
"You can check the old historical maps at the library and the museum," Hannah said.
"No...Hannah...I believe you. You have no reason to lie. But, you are correct. There might be a problem if the boy...Harry Dodd?...if his death was revealed. You have to understand child...even though that was over a hundred years ago, there are many well known families in this town whose ancestors may be connected to these factory deaths. Best leave it. I'll grade your excellent work and we shall leave the subject and not mention it again," Mrs. Furman said.
Hannah didn't mention it. But, every Halloween, the spirit of Harry Dodd called to Hannah.
All through high school and college, it was as if Harry Dodd's death wouldn't disappear.
Jackie and Lizzie were both in college. Grandfather and Grandmother Harding and Grandfather Jenkins passed on. Now, it seemed as if only Hannah Harding carried the secret of Harry Dodd's death.
After college, Hannah took a job with the Altomare Star newspaper. She'd studied journalism in college.
Still, Harry Dodd's spirit wouldn't rest. Hannah Harding was always subconsciously preoccupied by what she'd learned as a child.
When she was promoted to feature writer, she was allowed to write articles the editor-in-chief called "human interest stories."
Hannah knew exactly what she would write about.
As an adult, she had freedom to write stories she felt presented facts and issues that linked the past to the present. In her second sight, she was aware the spirit of Harry Dodd urged her to write about his death.
It always bothered Hannah that no news reports ever mentioned George Oldman's nephew. Hannah had a bee in her bonnet.
If I find out who that Oldman nephew was, I might be able to find out how Harry Dodd really died," she thought.
Hannah went up to the state library. She was sure she could investigate George Oldman more thoroughly. She was correct.
George Oldman was born and bred in Boston. He was a second generation owner of Oldman Leather. George Oldman, Sr. was forced to close the tannery in Boston due to several employee deaths. When his son, George moved the business to Altomare, Oldman Leather promised jobs just as it had in Boston. What it never mentioned was the deaths of several Boston employees.
The more Hannah Harding dug for information in the state archives, the more she saw a pattern. In the early 1900s, the Altomare Advance, now the Altomare Star was owned by Joshua Creedman. Hannah recognized that as the surname of her former school principal at Livingston Elementary School: Lawrence Creedman.
Was he a grandson of Joshua Creedman? Mayor Lloyd Lanning...another family name in Altomare she was familiar with...related to Adele Lanning, the librarian?
She was reminded of what Mrs. Furman, her former teacher said, "many well known families whose ancestors may be connected to those children's deaths."
What is the connection between a newspaper, a mayor and George Oldman, Thomas Bettencrew and Harold Lathrop, the owners of the factories?
Hannah found information on Thomas Bettencrew, a southern manufacturer whose great grandfather, Lorne, was involved in textiles since the early days of cotton plantations. He moved his factory up north after the slaves were freed and the south struggled to rebuild.
Harold Lathrop was a blue blood New Englander since the Pilgrims landed. His ancestor, a British smelter and iron ore manufacturer, came to New Amsterdam long before the name was changed to New York.
Hannah came to dread every Halloween. It meant another reminder of the unsolved death of Harry Dodd. She'd already spent more than a decade of her life searching and digging for information. Mostly on her own free time.
It all came down to Harry Dodd and the nephew of George Oldman.
The feature article of the Altomare Star still wasn't written. There wasn't enough information to complete it. She framed in her mind how she might write it as Harry Dodd's obituary. Then, decided against it.
She realized the only option left to find the name of George Oldman's nephew was to speak directly to any remaining Oldman family members. She'd done enough news interviews to know how to ask just the right questions.
After several weeks of searching, she located only one remaining member of the Oldman family tied to the factory in Altomare: Lavinia Oldman Hacklesby. She made an appointment to interview the woman.
Hannah wasn't prepared for the elderly woman's fragile memory.
"Mrs. Hacklesby, what was it like growing up in Altomare?" Hannah asked.
"Well, I was a very happy, very loved child, you see. My mother, Johanna Bettencrew, and my father George Oldman had a wonderful romance that produced my two older brothers and of course, me," the white-haired woman said, her wrinkled, porcelain skin turning scarlet.
"Your mother was a Bettencrew? How was she related to Thomas Bettencrew?" Hannah asked.
"Why, she was Thomas's youngest sister!" Lavinia said.
"Didn't Thomas Bettencrew own a factory in Altomare?"
"Yes. He surely did. Barnards Textiles. Uncle Thomas's mother was a Barnard. You know like the college?"
"Weren't your Uncle Tom and your father business competitors?" Hannah asked.
"In those days, men were just starting out in businesses. They only had each other to rely on to make a town strong enough to run businesses.
It was old Harold Lathrop who got the idea to set up shop in Altomare. He had ties to railroad tycoons and convinced Uncle Tom and my father he could get the town of Altomare to push through a rail line to ship goods to the ports," Lavinia said.
"So your uncle, father and Harold Lathrop were really good friends? Did they know Mayor Lanning or Altomare's town council?" Hannah asked.
"I should say so. Mayor Lanning and old Mr. Lathrop were college chums long before they got together in Altomare."
Hannah was amazed at the keen recall of the elderly woman. Though petite of stature, her mind was as clear and sharp as Hannah's. She wondered how she should broach the subject of Harry Dodd and the other children's deaths.
"When did your father close the factory in Altomare?" Hannah asked, with extreme caution.
Lavinia's mind suddenly seemed to drift.
"Mrs. Hacklesby?"
"I heard your question, child. I'm not senile yet," Lavinia barked.
"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean..." Hannah started.
"It was those danged lies about those children. My father was able to convince Joshua Creedman to keep the deaths out of the papers to protect the town and the workers who depended on the factories for work," Lavinia said.
"In those hard times, children all worked to help their families survive. Some were just too young to handle the machines, is all. Take that little boy who died in my Uncle Tom's factory. He wouldn't have gotten crushed by that machine if he hadn't been so careless," Lavinia said.
"You mean Timothy Harrigan?" Hannah asked.
"I can't remember his name. I just remember what a stink upstate papers made it into," Lavinia said.
"You said all children worked. Were there any others who were injured?"
"Oh my yes. A lot of injuries. But, it wasn't just children who were injured. The older workers...some lost fingers or an arm or other picked up sickness from fumes," Lavinia said.
Hannah tried to contain her shock. She knew she had to keep Lavinia talking while her memory held out.
"Chemical fumes?" Hannah asked.
"Yes. In my father's factory, those chemicals were necessary. No chemicals meant no leathers tanned. He couldn't make the workers understand how important they were. He even paid the ones who got sick," Lavinia said.
"Did any die of their illnesses?" Hannah asked.
"Only one death I remember. That little boy. But, they tried to blame that on my Uncle Tom's boy, Jarrod, my first cousin" Lavinia said.
"How so?" Hannah asked cautiously.
"Uncle Tom wanted the boy to start working like all the other boys in town. Mind you, Jarrod didn't need to work. Uncle Tom was well-to-do, after all. Still, men in those days didn't want their sons to be sissies. Uncle Tom asked my father to hire Jarrod. Jarrod was resentful and angry. But, Uncle Tom insisted work would teach him about business.
Didn't work out so well. I overheard my father tell Uncle Tom his boy was going to cause an accident because he just didn't care about doing his best. Sure enough, not one week later, the boy working the chemical vats accidentally fell into the vat, just as Jarrod was pushing a wagon of hides over to the presser. The boy's father blamed Jarrod for his son's death. Even tried to shut Oldman down. Wouldn't have done him any good.
The boy was dead. My maternal uncle was a court judge up in Boston. It was Joshua Creedman who convinced that boy's father to keep silent, so all those men and boys wouldn't lose their jobs. Don't know what ever happened to that family. Heard they left Altomare. Course, my father did make sure they had a decent amount of money to settle somewhere else," Lavinia said.
"Mrs. Hacklesby, you have been such a big help. Can I take you to lunch to thank you?" Hannah asked, as a favor of good will.
"Why no, child. My cook keeps me on a diet. My doctor complains bitterly about food I like to eat," Lavinia said.
Hannah left Lavinia Hacklesby feeling as if a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She knew her childhood experiences were not her imagination.
One question remained...Grandfather Harding told her years before "no one but the Dodd family knew how Harry died."
No one? Then, how did Grandfather Harding know?
It was obvious Grandfather Harding's father who worked at Oldman knew all about Jarrod and the accident that caused Harry Dodd's death. Hannah had a sick feeling in her stomach. Were there others who knew what happened to Harry Dodd and kept silent? Were they paid to keep silent? Did authorities discover what happened and shut the tannery down?
Hannah knew there was one final piece of information missing. She felt driven to find the answers. She had no clue where to begin. In her mind's eye, she felt a keen awareness of why her father and Mrs. Furman didn't want her report to go public.
Mrs. Furman. That was it. Mrs. Furman had to know about the entire episode. It's why she insisted Hannah get a good grade on the report even though it wasn't going to be read to the entire class as Hannah hoped.
Hannah found that Mrs. Furman retired from her teaching position at Livingston Elementary School over a decade ago. She called the Altomare tax office to inquire whether Mrs. Furman still owned her home in the town. Hannah used her strategy to illicit the address from the tax office clerk. She still lived at 8 Pennington Street...the street where Lathrop's was formerly located, according to the tax clerk.
Hannah felt that familiar eerie aura as she drove down Pennington Street. She stopped her car in front of the Furman residence. She walked up to the front door and knocked gently.
"Mrs. Furman? Do you remember me?" Hannah asked.
"Why I certainly do!" Mrs. Furman exclaimed with enthusiasm.
"I'm working at the Altomare Star now. I'm the paper's feature reporter. I was passing this way and thought maybe I'd drop by," Hannah said.
Irene Furman was an astute judge of character. She knew there was more to Hannah Harding's visit than just "passing by." The younger woman could have stopped by at any time before this.
"Come in, Hannah. It's nice to have company. I live alone since Mr. Furman passed on. We never had any children. Well, we did have one that died in childbirth shortly before I became a teacher," Irene Furman said.
She guided Hannah toward the living room and bid her make herself comfortable.
"This place isn't much. But, I'm still here. Now, can you get you a nice cup of tea?" she asked.
"Oh, that would be wonderful," Hannah said.
"I'll just go and put the kettle on and get the tray ready. I'll be right back."
Hannah looked around the room. It was a pleasant room with just two overstuffed occasional chairs and a sofa. It was lit by two large, old fashioned Hurricane Lamps. The minute Hannah glanced at the lamp to her right, she felt propelled back into the past. The room seemed filled with tired men bent over at huge, burning kettles. She was glad when Mrs. Furman entered the room again.
"Why Hannah...Is something wrong? You look as if you've seen a ghost!"
"No..I'm...uh..I'm okay."
Hannah wasn't okay. Harry Dodd's spirit appeared just over Mrs. Furman's left shoulder. Hannah struggled to speak.
"Now, Hannah, I know you didn't really just stop by to see your old teacher. What can I help you with?" Irene Furman said.
"Do you remember the report I wrote?"
"Yes. I do."
"I'm sure you no longer have it. I was just wondering why you didn't want it to be read to the entire class."
"This isn't really what you are asking, is it?" Irene Furman said.
"No. I'll be honest. For years, that information I found for that report haunted me like nothing else in my life. I have no idea why. I probably never should have written it. But...I did...there it is. There has always been a question in my mind why no one wanted to talk about that particularly period in Altomare's history."
"That report also haunted me, Hannah. You see, my grandparents, like yours, were told things they shouldn't have been told. They were too young to understand the consequences of such revelations," Irene Furman said.
"Mrs. Furman, you knew... didn't you...the school was where a boy was killed?"
"Yes. I will tell you now what you want to know. You may not like what you hear. But, I am certain you will not rest until you have all the pieces to the puzzle."
"Mrs. Furman, a little boy died at Oldman and no one knew about it. It's as if Harry Dodd never existed," Hannah said.
"He existed. Sadly, not for very long. Listen to me carefully. Then, decide what you will do with this information...
My grandfather and I were very close. My father died when I was young and I was left in my grandparents care while my mother struggled to make ends meet. Like all children, I wanted to know all about my grandfather's childhood.
Gradually, he told me about Oldman and that accident. You see, his father worked there like many men and boys in those days. He told me his father was just a young man when he worked on one of the pressers. Do you know what that is?" she asked.
"Yes. My grandfather also worked at Oldman," Hannah said.
"Yes. That's just my point. Your grandfathers, both of them, worked there when that accident happened. They saw it happen right before their eyes. Jarrod Bettencrew was the young boy who was responsible for Harry Dodd's death," Irene Furman said.
"Are you implying it wasn't an accident?" Hannah asked.
"No. According to my grandfather, Jarrod was a "wild boy" even in the tannery. He was careless and lazy, surly and always angry. Harry Dodd was younger and easily intimidated. He would be. After all, Jarrod was a relative of the Oldman owner. According to my grandfather, the Dodds were very poor. They lived near the railroad track that was built for those factories. Harry was their only son and the oldest child of the five Dodd children. The four Dodd girls worked at Barnard Textiles with their mother. Those were very difficult times for families. Many sent their children to orphanages or abandoned them on street corners in big cities in the hope that a wealthy family would take them in or hire them as household workers.
The day of the Oldman accident, Jarrod didn't want to be in the factory. In fact, he didn't want to work at all. That day...or any day. He felt it was beneath him. So, he began to load up the wagon cart with hides. My grandfather saw the hides were not loaded properly and shifted as the cart moved.
Your Great Grandfather Jenkins was the first to notice the wagon cart was starting to topple, just at the moment Harry Dodd was using the long turning paddle at the chemical vat. The paddle was bigger than Harry was tall. Jarrod got angry that it was in his way. He shoved Harry hard against the vat, causing it to wobble and spill chemical all over Harry and the floor.
Several of the workers, including your Great Grandfather Harding, rushed over. But, it was too late. The fumes were everywhere. The floor boss saw what happened and told workers to hurry and clean up the chemicals. Fumes were so bad several workers including little Harry Dodd were quickly overcome.
Harry got the worst of the fumes being he was splashed with chemical. He died within the hour. There was no doctor and even if there was a way to get a doctor to Oldman, the owners would never have allowed it.
My grandfather was seriously ill for many years after, as I suspect both of your Great Grandfathers were. One by one children in Barnards, Oldman and Lathrop's began to die until the death toll stood at five children dead and more than a dozen older workers maimed or seriously ill. Worse, these factories dumped a lot of their chemicals into the soil or nearby streams. Even people who didn't work in the factories fell ill by just drinking the chemical laced water or bathing in it. Women were terrified their laundry water was the reason for those skin blisters on their hands and their families bodies. No one back then had any idea of the dangers of these things.
A nosy journalist got wind of these accidents and the situation. He wrote a feature article, just like the one you will likely do. A state politician read the journalist's article. It shamed the local and state government so badly the federal government finally did something about allowing children to work in dangerous jobs.It wasn't until long after your parents and I were born that the federal government decided to put a stop to dumping chemicals altogether.
Now, you know the whole story. Will you visit shame on Altomare a second time?
The Dodd family left town and the factories were closed down, one by one, before 1920. Would it serve any purpose to dredge up this ugly history?
Hannah, think about it. Members of your own family kept silent about Harry Dodd's death. What would your parents think? Your grandparents...what would they think of you opening up an old, ugly wound?"
"Only my Grandmother Jenkins is still living. She moved in with my mother and father some years ago. But now, my parents are also getting on in years. Taking care of Grandmother Jenkins is hard on my mother. My grandmother is frail and nearly ninety now. Some of the time, she just sits in her chair and stares out the bedroom window. She occupies my old bedroom.
I have just one question. Earlier...you said you had a child that died at birth. What caused it?"
"At first, Mr. Furman and me thought it might be something to do with one or both of us. But, we both knew what it really was. Those chemicals. It's was in our blood. We were born one generation too close to those who suffered from illnesses from the fumes."
"Mrs. Furman, I want to thank you for filling in the final pieces of the puzzle. Perhaps now maybe Harry Dodd's spirit will rest," Hannah said.
"What do you mean Hannah...Harry Dodd's spirit? You always did have an active imagination in your early school days."
"I didn't just choose the history of Altomare for my report back then. Harry Dodd chose it for me. I know what I'm about to tell you is going to sound silly and irrational. There was a reason I hated Livingston Elementary School. Every time I walked into that building, I felt Harry Dodd's spirit. I've never told anyone about this, not even my parents. I saw a vision of him on Halloween the year you were my teacher. Remember? You told me the day after Halloween I seemed "preoccupied. Harry Dodd's spirit was right there in our midst that day.
Since then, every Halloween I am haunted by Harry Dodd. He will not rest until his story is told and he feels he's gotten justice. I am certain of this.
There are moments when I sense his spirit and that of those other children. There's been strange events where I feel I'm pulled backward into those awful factories. Even when I was in college, the mere mention of a factory or child's death would send me flying backward into the past," Hannah said.
"Hannah, I am sure you believe what you say. But, you must realize that your feelings of sensitivity to the deceased and past events are not healthy."
"Mrs. Furman, second sight is not a gift when you are haunted for half a lifetime by a single child's death. I must write this story. I've collected enough information since the day I left your class to know if I don't tell Harry Dodd's story, I will never have inner peace."
"Well, you must do what you feel is best. Just remember what is best is not always what is right."
Hannah Harding left Mrs. Furman's home with a new resolve. She knew what she had to do. She would tell Harry Dodd's story no matter what or who tried to stop her.
When she told her parents of her intentions, they were aghast. Even when she told the editor-in-chief of the Altomare Star and he ended her employment, she persisted.
One year later, she passed a display in a big city book store and smiled. One particular book caught her eye: "The Harry Dodd Story - Death at the Tannery," by Hannah Harding.
No comments:
Post a Comment