From the diary of Ruth Lahib – Evening of Wednesday, April 10th 1748
Young Angelica and John stayed the night in our room after their sister's death to allow the whole family to rest. When we went to see Mrs Grier that morning we found the room empty and her few items gone. As the day wore on it became increasingly clear that Mrs Grier had fled in the night, leaving her two children behind.
Apparently she was in terrible debt. Mrs Topasna said later that she had left much of her tick* at the shop unpaid, and that the Topasna's had begun to suspect months ago that it would likely not be ever paid. They are a kind family. They had kept Mr's Grier and her children fed despite the growing debt and had made no mention of it to us or anyone else until now.
Word travels fast here. That very evening we were visited by the Christian priest, Mr Holiday, who said that Ella Grier must be buried and her two siblings rehoused not one day hence. I understand the need for it. The burial of course cannot wait and g-d knows we haven't the space for two more in our little room, but their lives have changed so much in such short a period it seems unfair that they should be uprooted so quickly.
Mother says we ought to think kindly of those who have been dealt a worse hand than ourselves, but I still think it was a wicked thing for Mrs Grier to have abandoned her children thus.
Little John has been in tears since this whole thing began but Angelical has barely cried at all. She looks distant and deeply saddened like her grief is a river deep below the ground. I suppose she feels that she must take a responsibility in her brother’s care now. What great burdens we women carry!
The Topasne's have a small fire and a tub and we heated water to bathe the the poor little creatures, grubby as they were. At least we can send them on their way clean and free of flees and knits. Their clothes have been burnt. There was no salvaging them even for scrap.
We sat Angelica and John by the fire wrapped in a blanket while young Kawayan and Mrs Topasne searched for something that they might wear.
In the end they looked quite smart for their sister's funeral. Kawayan even gave John his own hat to take, which was very kind as I do not think he has another.
The church is a white wooden structure quite unlike any Church I've seen before**
We gathered flowers along the way to adorn the little grave with.
She was buried in an overgrown corner of the graveyard, with father and Mr Topasne digging the grave themselves. It is pretty at least, in it's way, and I suppose her siblings can visit her there and feel some small measure of comfort. The funeral was brief and solemn with only the priest and the Topasnas in attendance besides ourselves.
After, there was a meeting in the church to decide where the two Grier children ought to be housed. Us women and the two children themselves were not allowed to attend, instead waiting in the school room while the men decided their fate.
Father attended, along with Mr Treves, Mr Greco, and Mr Topasna. Father said that it was almost like an auction, various people in the town offering to house the children in return for a stipend from the council.*** The children are supposed to go to the houses of those who agree to be paid the least - with almost no thought given to their wellbeing. Mr Greco and another one of father's farm employers, Mr Miller, both offered to take the two children together but their bids were dismissed. They are to be housed separately.
Mr. Holiday took Angelica to live with him and his family. He was very self righteous about this, acting as though he had done something ever so charitable, but as we walked home Mr Topasna told us that he suspected the true reason was that Mr Holiday and his wife had been wanting for a new maid for some time. This way they get one for free.
As for young John, he was sent off with a huge Brute of a man named Mr. Best - apparently a friend of the priest. He is fearsome, with scars all across his face, but his wife was the healer that came for Mrs. Grier on Monday and seemed a kindly woman, so perhaps he will be alright.
I know it is not possible but I wish that we could do more. There is little kindness for children like Ella, John and Angelica Grier here any more than there would have been back home and i fear what will become of them.
Notes:
* Tick is where we get out word 'ticket' from. It is an old word for credit. It would have been common for families at this time, who were living very hand to mouth, to get essential like food 'on tick' and pay at a later point when they had the money.
** I tried to make the church reasonably accurate to Colonial churches at the time, though being from England I have to fight the urge to base church structures on the 11th century building's I grew up with. Maryland, where I've decided to set my story, was created as an area of religious freedom specifically for Catholics and so the Christians in this town are largely catholic rather than Protestant or puritan.
*** Part of why I wanted to do this story was to highlight the unpleasant phenomenon of 'pauper auctions'. This was a form of poor relief of this time that is exactly as it sounds. Those unable to care for themselves were often placed with other families in what essentially amounted to a form of indentured servitude. The families in return would receive a stipend that would be bid upon, the winner being those who agreed to pay the least. This was especially common in rural areas, where more centralised systems of care for vulnerable people were unavailable. The vulnerabilities of a system like this are obvious and were criticised at the time.
In 1851 social reformer Thomas R. Hazard wrote:
“When stripped of all disguises, selling the poor to the lowest bidder is simply offering a reward for the most cruel and avaricious man that can be found to abuse them,”
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As a reminder that good exists out there, a coworker recently confessed to me that he found out his child is questioning their identity (kid's gender redacted for this post). The kid is keeping it from him, so he can't say anything to them or show that he knows, but he's doing his best to get mentally prepared and educated so that he'll be ready whenever his kid does feel comfortable enough come to him.
For context, this guy is a big, bulky middle aged dude who loves sports and typical outdoor "manly" activities. As his coworker and friend, I know he's a kind and sweet teddy bear of a person, but his kid probably views him as a stern, authoritarian figure, the way most teenagers view their parents. His family lives in a conservative area, so I'm sure between that, their dad's looks and interests, and the fact that their dad is a Figure of Authority, the kid is worried that they won't be accepted.
But you know what? When he found out about his kid, the first thing he did was reach out to his closest queer friend and ask for resources for parents of questioning children. His biggest fears are that his kid will be bullied or discriminated against and won't feel comfortable enough to be themself. His second action was to find himself a mentor in another parent who went the same situation (kid coming out in a conservative town). The other person is preparing him for some of the struggles his kid may face and the fights he may need to take on as a parent to make sure his kid is safe and treated well.
Something I want to emphasize for people focused on language as the primary method of allyship is that when we spoke, he used some outdated terms and thoughts about gender and sexuality. That does not make him bad. These were the terms and thinking used about questioning teenagers when he was growing up and he never needed to learn more current ones. But now that he does have that need, he's throwing himself in head first because that's his kid and he's darn well going to make sure that his kid feels welcomed and has a safe place to be themselves even if they never come out to him.
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no but you do not understand we collectively spent YEARS heartbroken over donna! and doctor never ever got over losing her! and now they are together, and they have chosen each other for family, and donna's family has warmth enough for him, and they are happy and having dinners, and 14th is casually sneaking his niece away on adventure while making sure not to tell donna because she would obliterate him and IT'S OKAY THEY'RE CHOSEN SIBLINGS IT'S WHAT THEY FUCKING DO.
listen. LISTEN.
donna's every day was taken away from her.
the doctor has been running every day ever since.
and now they get to spend time together. not a brief trip in a tardis. not a reunion before parting forever. but every. day. every day, one after the other. and they are finally home.
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in internet posts it is easy to cut them out of your life. they are hurting you! they aren't listening to you!
they held your hair back. they lent you lipstick. they held your hand at the train station and got you home safe. they rounded on your bully, got loud, said get fucked, spitting-mad in your defense.
they also cut the hair off again. told you that you should really think twice before wearing something like that. took you for granted. took your insecurities and threw them in your face again.
you know logically it should be easy. all the internet advice comments always read it will feel better. like an equation - if a person is rotten, you just remove them. you pull the tooth that's hurting.
but it was never a big flare-up moment. you don't live in a sitcom. they never tried to take your boyfriend or steal from your apartment. they showed up to birthdays and they wrote songs about you and bring you water without you asking. once you found out they carry an emergency inhaler for you, even though you haven't had an asthma attack in years - just in case.
where is the line? people fuck up. sometimes they fuck up badly. sometimes people have raw personalities, like a powerline, and being around them is dangerous. addicting. sometimes they can't help themselves, but you know they're trying. sometimes they are just rough-around-the-edges. sometimes they don't even realize how they sounded when they said that. sometimes it's just - you've both loved each other for so long now, the way this thing hurts goes back to the root.
and that's the fucked up part. you have pushed your fingers against the sweetheart of memory. things these days are electric, tense, harrowing. they didn't used to be. there were a lot of good days in there. sometimes you want to just close your eyes and say can this be over yet? do we still need to be fighting?
doing that would give up any chance you get of getting an apology, but you don't always know that you need an apology, you love them. once they flaked on your birthday party. once they told you to get over it, people are always dying. they also let you crash on their couch for a week after the breakup, handfeeding you when you were so sad you couldn't eat. they are also judgmental about everything, occasionally react to banal statements with an attitude that is weird and fiery. they also love you like a lighthouse sometimes, so strong they cut the storm like lightning.
but the problem is that you might be storm. you might be the thing that needs breaking. what if you are two forces who are desperately, horribly drawn to each other, shaped by the other person's passions, and both good for each other and bad in equal measure.
what if you're both just people, and you're no saint neither.
just cut them off! swallowing the saltwater, you catch yourself in the mirror. you've been shaking more than usual. there's an ache in you that is oblique, loud, impossible to soothe. is this what it looks like? when life is "easier"?
your mouth will always have a hole, is the thing, if you remove the tooth.
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