Page 35 of Taming Lady Temperance

Martha raised a challenging brow. “Are you sure it wasn’t The Taming of the Shrew?”

“Are you calling me a shrew?” Noreen’s voice raised in a fashion that was affronted but definitely not shrewish.

Laughter trickled out of Martha as she wrapped an arm around her jiggling belly. “As You Like It.”

“Oh for pity’s sake.”

“Now, now, ladies.” Jane’s bewildered gaze bounced from one friend to the other. “I have no idea what this Shakespearean battle is really about, but I assure you that All’s Well That Ends Well.”

Noreen looked at Jane’s sweetly confused face, then turned to Martha’s teasing countenance, and the ridiculousness of the situation finally penetrated her guard of ruffled feathers. A host of giggles rose from her core, cleansing the tension from her spirit as they bubbled forth. Martha and Jane joined in until laughter rang from the rafters.

“Well, isn’t that a delightful sound greeting my arrival?”

Noreen straightened at the sound of Hortense Lockwood’s voice. She cleared her throat and stepped forward to greet their founder with as much dignity as she could manufacture on short notice.

“Miss Lockwood, I wanted to thank you for allowing me to address the society this evening.”

The older woman smiled and cast a glance past Noreen to where Martha and Jane stood. “Well, you had a pair of very convincing champions arguing on your behalf.”

Jane too? Noreen cast a look over her shoulder to find Martha smiling with confidence while Jane stared mostly at the floor, yet both of her friends stood behind her literally and figuratively, and Noreen’s heart swelled at their steadfastness.

The rest of the spinsters filed into the schoolroom a few at a time, and the room came to life with friendly chatter. Noreen followed the plan Martha and Jane had helped develop and greeted each lady as she entered, forcing herself to make polite conversation by asking after family members and personal health when what she really wanted to do was hide with Jane in a dim corner. She learned far more about Ellie Throckmorton’s goiter than she ever wanted to know, but the woman actually smiled at Noreen and thanked her for asking, as if it had been a great favor. Perhaps others understood the feeling of not being heard more than Noreen had suspected.

Miss Lockwood called the meeting to order and moved through the agenda while Noreen did her best to lasso her nerves by sitting in the back next to Jane.

“Our first service project will take place this Saturday in the home of Parson Cowan.”

Noreen’s stomach clenched as the business items turned toward the monthly projects.

Miss Lockwood smiled in Jane’s direction, causing her face to turn scarlet.

“Bring your sewing baskets if you will be joining the mending group. Others may volunteer to bring snacks and assist with folding and organizing the donated clothing. I will leave a sign-up sheet on the desk here at the front of the room so we can get an idea of who plans to attend and which group you would prefer to join.”

Miss Lockwood’s gaze targeted Noreen, and Noreen’s heart oscillated like a treadle sewing machine at full speed. She swallowed—or tried to. Her throat seemed to be closing in on itself.

“Next, Miss Noreen O’Sullivan would like to propose a service project for the society’s consideration. Noreen?” Miss Lockwood stepped aside and gestured for Noreen to take her place at the front of the room.

Never had a schoolroom aisle felt so long. Pulling her notes from her skirt pocket, Noreen made her way to the front, then turned to face the group. “Hello.”

Was that scratchy sound her voice?

She cleared her throat and unfolded her page of notes, the paper’s crinkling echoing loudly in her ears.

Make eye contact with your audience. Smile. Don’t forget to breathe.

She’d written Martha’s instructions on the top of her page and did her best to follow them. Her mouth curled, probably too far, judging by the strange looks on the faces before her, but she checked the item off her list anyway. Breathing proved trickier than one would expect, but she took a precious heartbeat to inhale and exhale before continuing. Martha sat in the front row, providing a friendly pair of eyes to connect with first. Even Jane sat tall and gave her a little nod of encouragement when Noreen glanced her way. Hortense Lockwood intimidated her, so she steered her attention to Ellie Throckmorton instead.

“Many of you know that I am a member of the Woman’s Christian Temperance Union. You might expect me to quote statistics about how the drinking of strong liquor leads to criminal behavior, the degradation of morality, and the destruction of families. However, I’m not here to preach to you. I’m here to share a story and seek your help.

“Before my mother married Arthur Clevenger and we moved here to Albany, my mother was married to a man known to his friends as Fiery Finn O’Sullivan. He was loud and hot tempered, but my earliest memories of my father were of a man who would tickle my ribs and carry me around on his shoulders. He had his surly moments, but he was my papa and my hero. Until the pain from his time in the war caught up to him. War takes a toll on a man, and my father began to break under the weight of the memories. He turned to strong spirits to try to forget, but the liquor took a toll of its own. It changed his temperament and led to him exacerbating an old war injury that then impeded his ability to work our farm. The more frustrated and helpless he felt, the more he turned to the saloon for succor. Yet the more he leaned on the bottle, the more his troubles expanded. He vacillated between being sullen and being angry and violent.

“My mother and I bore the brunt of his temper for years. He beat us down with derisive words, and when that wasn’t sufficient, he beat us with his hands as well. Home was no longer a safe haven. It was a battlefield. One where a father broke his little girl’s arm on two occasions and, even worse, broke her heart.”

Noreen’s voice cracked, and she rubbed her right forearm, the pain seeming to rise to the surface as she spoke of the past.

Steadying herself with a few blinks and a small sniff, she faced her audience again. Several expressions radiated compassion, sending an invisible salve into the sore places of Noreen’s heart.

“Eventually, his drinking killed him, leaving my mother a widow with a mortgaged farm and no way to work it. The Lord provided for us, but we both carry deep scars from our time living with my father’s drinking.