The Sojourners: The Donaghue Histories, #2

By C. Jane Reid

That woman will bring shame down upon us . . .

The New World is no place for a penniless widow. Elsie MacClayne's choices are few: remain with the other Scots-Irish immigrants to become a burden on her friends or search out her cousin, Connor, who has already made Pennsylvania Colony his home. Elsie longs to make a life for herself and her unborn child, but old prejudices are still alive amongst the colonists, and she is looked upon with either pity or distrust.

What I did was inexcusable . . .

Niall Donaghue had anticipated his brother's arrival in the New World, but he hadn't expected Grahame to arrive with a new wife. Anger and jealousy drive him to make a mistake that costs him not only Grahame's trust but the chance to pursue his own hopes for the future. He is forced to set aside his ambitions for the sake of his aunt and their livelihood.

Can Elsie find the courage to withstand the threats around her and claim her place in a foreign land? Can Niall find the will to ask for the forgiveness he longs for?

The Sojourners, set in 1720s Pennsylvania, is the second book in the saga of the Donaghue family. Each book follows the next generation of the family against the backdrop of the developing New World and features historical detail, strong women and their craftiness, and a crochet pattern by designer Laurinda Reddig.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Carissa Reid
• Release date: Sep 20, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393120674

C. Jane Reid

C. Jane lives in the Pacific Northwest where she loves the rain because it makes being a writer even easier with few bright, sunny days to draw her out of the house. She credits her upbringing in Indiana and her early adulthood in the West Texas Panhandle for her fascination with family history. Much like her characters, her own extended family live within a few towns (or at times only a cornfield) from each other. She spends much of her free time avoiding laundry and dishes by searching the web for interesting facts on things like how to make pawpaw jelly and the steps to loading a flintlock rifle. She loves old maps, old books, and old handcrafts. She also keeps a genealogy of all her characters but sadly hasn’t had time to work on the one for her own family. Life is funny like that. If you would like to learn more about her books and research, you can find more information on her website: www.cjanereid.com

Book preview

For Andrea

who shares Elsie’s dignity, courage, and grace.

And for Aunt Judy,

who shared my love for family history.

Elsie’s Sojourn

Prologue

September 24th, 1720

Aboard The Resolution

On deck, the air was cold. The sun was still low in the east, barely risen above the blue-green water, and the sky was streaked with banners of clouds whose undersides shone gold with the dawn. The wind had gone still and the sails sagged, as though bowing in respect for the man who had been so keen to know their ways.

Jacky’s body lay swathed in sailcloth on two stacks of crates near the ship’s rail. The mourners gathered on the deck, and Mr. Vance came forward, solemn and sorrowful, to read from his book.

Man that is born of a woman is of few days and is full of trouble.

Elsie clutched her friend Ailee by the hands. She could not think of Jacky as having lived a life full of troubles. Her husband had brimmed with joy, with his crooked grin and bright eyes alive with laughter.

We’ll make a fine life in the New World, Elsie my lass, he would say. I’ll build you a sturdy cottage and make you a fine spinning wheel. We’ll sit before the fire at night with that little one you carry finally come to join us, and all in the world will be right and good.

Elsie could feel Jacky’s arm around her, arms that would never hold her again. She watched the waves leap and dance as the ship cut across the ocean and heard Jacky’s laughter in the wind.

Mr. Vance closed his book at last and stepped aside. It was time to lay Jacky to his final rest, but there was no plot of earth awaiting him. There was only the sea.

Elsie released Ailee to step forward. She laid her hands over the place where Jacky’s own were folded under the sailcloth. They were stiff under the rough cloth. No prayers came to her. Only Jacky’s voice.

All in the world will be right and good . . .

Elsie stumbled back, and Ailee took her hands once more, tears streaking down her dear face. Elsie felt empty, three words rolling endlessly through her head. Right and good . . . Right and good . . .

Captain Dawson stepped forward. He gestured, and three sailors approached the crates. One of the men was Ailee’s husband, Grahame, who had become Jacky’s good friend. The three men took hold of Jacky’s shrouded body, and as Mr. Vance said a few last parting words, they cast Jacky over the side of the ship. The clap of the waves against the ship masked the splash of his final resting place.

He was gone. Her husband, the father of her unborn child, her oldest and dearest friend was gone forever.

The world would never be right again.

Elsie sagged as the ship tilted beneath her feet, and blackness, like the depth of the sea, claimed her.

Chapter One

October 28, 1720

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania Colony

After weeks at sea, Elsie couldn't take in all the sights and sounds of this strange new town. The noise and motion in the streets even in the dwindling daylight overwhelmed her.

This was a mistake.

Not at all, dear, Tavey Vance soothed. They walked next to one another, Mr. Vance on his wife’s other side, her arm around his. Elsie felt an absence next to her where Jacky would have walked.

I don’t think I can do this, Elsie said in a weak voice. It wasn’t only the ache of grief pulling her back, but the busy city pressing in on her. She thought being out of the ship’s berths would be a blessing, but she missed the security of the plank walls and the familiar sounds of those around her. Everything about this new town was alien and frightening, from the strangers wearing odd clothing and speaking in foreign accents to the hints of wilderness lying beyond the rough buildings along the edge of town.

You need a good meal is all, Tavey told her.

The boarding house offers a meal. It’s only a street back.

Now, Elsie, Tavey said, releasing Mr. Vance’s arm to take Elsie’s. The older woman looked stern but understanding. There’s nothing for you at the boarding house. Here you’re amongst your friends.

It was true. Nothing awaited her at the boarding house but grief and loneliness. She glanced behind to the faces of those she’d traveled with from Ireland, seeing people she’d known most of her life. They offered her gentle smiles and nods of sympathy.

Won’t you take my arm, Elsie? Mr. Vance offered kindly.

I couldn’t.

Nonsense. Tavey stepped aside, giving way to Elsie. You walk with Bruce. I’ve a few words to trade with Iona.

Reluctantly, Elsie accepted Mr. Vance’s offer. He led her down the wooden walkway and on to the damp ground, making observations about the town. She hardly heard him.

They stopped before a large structure. It might have once been a barn.

This must be the public house Mrs. Royce recommended, he said, trying not to look dubious. The landlady had been kindly, if a little scattered, and she’d named several public houses for the newcomers to try.

But O’Ruddy’s Barn is the best, she had said, nodding so vigorously that wisps of her graying hair escaped from her lace mobcap. Best Irish food this side of Galway.

Mr. Vance had refrained from telling her that they were Scots-Irish and not likely to think much of the fare from Galway. Instead, he’d thanked her and assembled the members of his congregation to choose where to go. So as not to make too much of a fuss by taking a large a gathering to one place, the group had divided among the public houses the landlady named. Mr. Vance had lead a handful of them to O’Ruddy’s Barn.

The public house had indeed once been a barn. The lamps outside were lit for the evening, though the sky was only beginning to darken. A raucous noise came from inside, Irish voices warring to be heard. Mr. Vance released her arm to pull open the wide door. Strains of music echoed from the rafters, and the pleasant aroma of bread and stew mixed with the unmistakable scent of stout came through the doorway.

Galway food or not, Iona said from behind them, it smells fine enough.

The others muttered in agreement, and even Elsie’s stomach rumbled in a rare show of hunger.

As Elsie entered, a voice rose over the others from near the trestle table that served as a bar. A hush spread across the crowd like a wave, and Mr. Vance stopped midway through the door. Elsie held her breath, afraid that she had somehow triggered the silence. In her moment of fear, her gaze met that of a man standing at the heart of the silence. He flinched as if startled by her sudden presence. He looked so familiar, as if all she had to do was call out his name, a name she couldn’t possibly know, and he would cross over to her. His black hair fell to the collar of his fashionable coat. He was clean-shaven with a striking chin and an expressive mouth. His eyes were as dark as his hair, giving him an intense, brooding gaze that held hers captive.

The burly man standing next to him slammed his tankard on the bar and the spell was broken.

You’re daft if you think we’ll throw in with the English. The man wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then thrust a finger into the handsome stranger’s chest. We came here to escape all that.

We came here to build a home, the stranger countered.

And to be free, the other man said, gesturing at the audience. Voices rose up in agreement.

We have a chance here, the stranger pressed. We can build a country, one we have a say in. We can work with the English and the French and the Germans to make something new, something to be proud of.

I’m proud to be Irish. We stood fast and kept to our roots when the English would turn us into them. And you want us to work with the English? The man spat on the floor at the stranger’s feet.

If you’ll but listen—

No, you listen, brother. We’re of Ireland, and that’s not changing because we’ve left her shores. Another round of cheers followed. If you want to act the lackey to the English or the French or the Germans, the man’s voice twisted in mockery, then you go do that. For my part, I’ll be keeping my land, mine that I bought and own, for myself, and woe to any who tries to take it from me.

Another round of agreement echoed his pronouncement. Elsie was shocked at the vehemence surrounding her. The stranger appeared aware his cause was lost. He set down a coin on the bar, gave his opponent a long, lingering look full of annoyance, and strode from the bar. Several men called jeers after him, but he ignored them.

The stranger walked to where Elsie stood and paused. She glanced up at him, not certain what to expect, and found him looking down at her with cautious hope in his eyes.

Come, Elsie. Mr. Vance chose that moment to take her by the arm.

The stranger’s expression twisted with disappointment and regret. Elsie was surprised by the openness of his emotions. She wanted to explain, though what she did not know, but he pushed past them through the doorway and was gone.

The public house broke out into noisy conversation once more. She spent the rest of the evening trying not to wonder at her reaction to the stranger. Her sudden connection to the man was as unlike her as could be, and guilt gnawed at her with each passing thought. She spent the evening trying to dismiss all thought of him.

THE BOARDING HOUSE served a lovely breakfast that tasted like ash in Elsie’s mouth. She picked at the meal until the rest of the lodgers had finished. Tavey kept trying to tempt her to eat, but Elsie merely shook her head.

Rising with Tavey to return to the room she shared with the Vances, Elsie moved in a fog, hearing voices but not the words, seeing shapes but not the details. She was a ghost among her fellows, a will o’ wisp lost in sunlight.

The first words to break through the numbness were from Mr. Vance, who came into the room shortly after them.

. . . to Connor—

To Connor? she interrupted, and all numbness fell away in a surge of hope. What did you say about Connor?

Only that I’ve come from trying to send a letter to him on your behalf, the minister said, speaking as if this was not the first time he’d said those words to her. Mrs. Royce kindly offered directions to the nearest post office. I fear the news is not good.

What do you mean? Elsie twisted the ends of her shawl in her hands.

There’s no post delivered to a place called Danner’s Mill, he told her, his expression grim. Most likely your cousin sent his post from a place other than where he lives, but he failed to mention which.

Elsie sank onto the only bed in the room. But Connor doesn’t know I’ve come. How will we reach him if not by post? How would the passage be paid if her cousin didn’t come for her? He had promised to do so in his last letter. It was the only way she and Jacky could make the crossing. Worry churned her stomach, and what little she’d eaten for breakfast grew unsettled, a sensation she’d felt more and more in the past few weeks.

She rested her hand over her belly, on the slight swelling of the child growing within.

There must be something to be done, Tavey said to her husband.

I can’t think what it might be, Mr. Vance admitted. I am sorry, Elsie.

Elsie closed her eyes in despair. Connor didn’t know she had made the trip from Ireland, and without a way to reach him, she was lost. No promise of home, no shelter of family, and no coin to pay passage.

Captain Dawson is sending his man to collect this afternoon, Mr. Vance continued as if reading Elsie’s thoughts. There’s only a handful who still owe passage who haven’t gone into service. I’m sure we could make some bargain for you, he added, but he sounded dubious.

An idea struck Elsie from a chance remark her friend Ailee had made as they packed to leave the ship.

I could sell Jacky’s things.

Oh, Elsie— Tavey began, but Mr. Vance shushed her gently.

That might be for the best.

Elsie stood, grim but determined. Will you help me?

Of course. We can go to the storage house immediately to pick out what to sell.

All of it, Elsie told him. Connor will have whatever I’ll need or can replace it with what he would have paid for my passage.

The Vances were quiet, and Elsie knew they were thinking how unlikely it was that she’d find her cousin.

But you might have some need, Tavey finally said.

It was easier to think of getting rid of it all. She wouldn’t have to face the pain of seeing familiar tools or a beloved shirt.

There’s a few items, she admitted. Not many. I can tell you what they are, she added.

Both the Vances looked at her with understanding. I’ll take care of it at once, Mr. Vance said, taking up his wide-brimmed hat. He settled it over the powdered wig that had seen better days. I’ll return as quickly as I can.

Elsie listed the few belongings that would be most useful to her, such as her butter churn and wool carders, her favorite kettle, and the foodstuffs, soap, and preserves she’d brought from Ireland. And her lace-making tools and supplies. She could try to earn coin from selling cheyne lace as her mother had in her youth.

I’ll go with him, Tavey said as her husband stepped out the door. He’ll miss something, I’m sure. Will you go find Iona and ask her to check on the others?

She nodded, though she knew Tavey asked only so Elsie wouldn’t stay alone in the room to grieve. But she remained in the room after Tavey left. It was the first time she’d been alone, truly alone, since leaving the farm in Ireland.

She didn’t like it. There was nothing to stop Jacky from walking through her thoughts. He’d had such a particular walk. She used to tease him when they were children about how he kicked his feet out with each step like a silly strutting goose, but as he’d grown, that strut had become lean and long and mesmerizing. And his lopsided grin had become inviting.

He hadn’t been smiling at the end. He’d been pale and drawn, his dear face twisted in discomfort.

Elsie blinked fiercely to keep the tears at bay.

She left the room and her grieving to find Iona. It wasn’t hard to track the woman down. Elsie followed the sound of Iona’s voice and found her haranguing Sally O’Dewl for trying to use the inn’s kitchen to bake bread.

You’ll have to buy bread like everyone else, Iona was telling the shorter woman. Iona’s face was red, a color it always became when she was in the midst of a tirade, and the large mole on her chin made her look all the fiercer.

But we’ve got all the supplies for making our own, Sally argued. I see no need to waste good coin for what we can make ourselves.

A handful of women stood in the hall with Elsie, listening in. Several of them nodded in agreement.

Iona straightened to tower over Sally. And where will you replace the supplies you’ve wasted here when you’re out in the hills with no wheat grown and no mill to grind it? What will you do for bread then?

Iona cast her fierce gaze over the other women. When we leave town, we’re on our own and don’t you be forgetting it. Keep what you’ve brought, add to your stores, and buy what you need for now. We leave tomorrow.

The women separated as Iona strode away, the bit of lace on her mob cap flouncing in odd contrast to her angry expression.

Are you ready for the journey? Elsie ventured to ask Sally.

Yes, but we’re not traveling with the rest of you, Sally said, still glaring after Iona. Geoffrey’s hiring a wagon to take us to his brother’s farm east of town, so we’ll have plenty of wheat for flour, she grumbled.

I didn’t know you had family here. Elsie felt a stab of envy. Sally knew where to find her family. She must have planned ahead. Why hadn’t they? Or had Jacky known and the knowledge died with him?

Elsie didn’t like the moment of anger that overcame her.

It’s all the family Geoffrey has left, Sally was saying. He’d been planning to join Shea before he met me. His brother came over a few years back. But Geoffrey lost time to courting. Sally grinned, and it changed her back to the sweet-faced young woman Elsie knew.

Does his brother know you’re coming?

We sent word this summer as soon as plans were set.

Elsie wished she and Jacky had thought to do the same.

And what will you do, Elsie? Sally asked. Are the Vances taking you in?

The woman’s questions were innocent, but the way she asked them was far too careful. Elsie knew the other travelers had been tiptoeing around her, fearful of upsetting her. She hadn’t been the only person to lose someone on the crossing. Four others had died early in the voyage, lost to the sickness that had laid up most of the passengers during a fierce storm. But Elsie had been the only one to lose her husband and her sole means for support.

My cousin, she said determinedly. I’m to live with him.

Sally brightened. I’m glad to hear it.

Elsie, Iona called, coming back up the hall toward them. There’s a man here for you. From the ship.

Elsie went cold. She tried to gather herself before nodding to Iona. As she followed the older woman down the hall, a few of the others fell in behind her. She wasn’t alone, at least. She did wish Mr. Vance were with her, though, or one of the other men.

Where were all the other men?

The man standing in the common room of the inn was obviously a sailor and was just as obviously trying not to look like one. His pale hair was bound back, and he’d donned a battered tricorn hat. His reddish beard was newly trimmed and his clothing decent if not fine. She decided it was the way he stood that marked his profession, legs apart as though to catch himself in any swells, shoulders square, arms loose. And his face was weathered by long days at sea, eyes narrowed from the unhindered sunlight on the open waters.

She recognized him as Captain Dawson’s first mate. She thought his name was Bridger.

Mr. Bridger, she said, deciding to force herself to be brave and make the first move. Ailee would have done so, and Elsie thought she needed to be a little more like her friend in this instance.

He looked surprised by her forward manner. Mrs. MacClayne. His voice was thickly accented in an English dialect she couldn’t place. Belatedly, he remembered to remove his hat. The cap’n sent me to collect passage. As I was explaining to this . . . He paused, glancing at Iona with a dark cast to his gaze. To this woman, he continued, ship’s due to sail day after next. Cap’n needs payment, and seeing as you’ve no, that is— He foundered, most likely at the visible grief Elsie couldn’t quite suppress when she realized he’d be speaking to her husband, had Jacky lived.

Elsie took a steadying breath and set a forced smile on her lips. Of course. She faltered. I—I don’t actually know what’s owed. Jacky—my husband saw to all that.

Mr. Bridger looked as if he wished he were anywhere else. ‘Tis three guinea, ma’am.

Elsie blinked, confused. Iona stepped forward.

By God, man, what language are you speaking? Guineas? We pay in common coin.

It was Mr. Bridger’s turn to blink. Ah, then, ‘twould be three pounds, three shillings.

Elsie’s heart pounded in her ears, and she was unable to keep from staring at the man, appalled. Had she heard correctly? Three pounds? She’d never seen that much money in all her life. Where was she supposed to get three pounds? Even if Mr. Vance sold all her things for the best price, it wasn’t possible that it would total three pounds.

She glanced around, lost, seeking some sign of hope or show of understanding on the faces nearby, but the women watching were as astonished as she.

‘Tis unexpected, I’m sure, the first mate said. Part of the passage was already paid, so ‘tis much less than it were.

It had been more than three pounds? Elsie’s breath came shallow and fast. Mr. Bridger was watching her, waiting for some word in response.

Who— how was it paid? she finally managed to ask, her words stumbling. A few of the women stepped closer to her, Iona coming up to stand next to her, Sally not far behind.

I can’t say, ma’am. Cap’n only said part was paid and that all that were left owed was your share of the crossing, ma’am. He appeared more uncertain as the women pressed closer.

My share . . . Elsie was at a loss.

You’ll have it, Iona told him. Tomorrow.

Mr. Bridger shifted as though the deck rocked under him. Cap’n says—

I don’t much care what your captain says, Iona interrupted crossly. I say you’ll have it tomorrow and that’s the whole of it.

Mr. Bridger looked to Elsie. She tried to draw on a measure of Iona’s boldness and strength.

Tomorrow, Mr. Bridger, if you please. Her voice was faint but steady.

Mr. Bridger pursed his lips, his beard curling at his chin with the motion. Very well. I’ll be back tomorrow for it. He donned his hat.

Once he had gone, the women, whose number had grown without Elsie realizing it, began speaking all at once.

Three pounds?

Does he take us for royalty?

Did Seamus pay that much for us to cross?

Does Mr. Vance know about this?

What will you do, Elsie?

This last cut through Elsie’s panic. The women were watching her, a sea of mobcaps and worried expressions.

Pay what I can, she said, her voice hushed.

We’ll find a way, Iona added. The other women slowly nodded, one by one, under her stern gaze.

Sally wrapped an arm around Elsie’s shoulders. Let’s get our knitting and heat the kettle for tea. Iona can’t be cross with us for making toast, do you think? she asked as she guided Elsie upstairs.

Elsie brought her knitting bag down to the common room and sat with Sally. Her hands were still shaking. She had to take several deep breaths before opening her bag.

The small blanket she’d begun knitting on the ship lay on top. She’d worked on it during the crossing as a diversion to keep her thoughts from straying to Jacky, but now that she’d arrived, she couldn’t face the fact of having a child alone. She put the unfinished blanket away, burying it deep in her bag and in her thoughts.

Instead, she took up cheyne lace hooks. It was good to hold them again. Jacky had crafted them out of heavy needles, cutting a notch into the eye to create the clever hook for working thread into lace. He’d set the end into a tree branch he’d cut to size and polished. Holding them brought her not only closer to Jacky, but to her mother, who had taught her the skill. She desperately missed them both.

Rather than dwell on her losses, she took up a spare ball of woolen thread and tried to recreate the strange scarf the ship’s cook had worn that had captivated Ailee. Her friend had spent the better part of the crossing trying unsuccessfully to knit the odd loop of scarf. The stitch had been strange, one neither of them recognized. Elsie had thought she could do it with the cheyne lace hooks, but they had been packed away in the ship’s hold. At last she could make the attempt.

As she worked, she understood why Ailee had kept trying after failing time and again. None of the stitches she worked looked quite right, but the effort kept her mind off her worries. The time passed before Elsie knew it.

Tavey and Mr. Vance found her in the common room before dinner. Elsie was still at the stitch, trying to make it double back upon itself, no longer attempting to work in the round. She’d caught murmurs of the conversations, the women anxious about the place where they were to settle, sharing the fears the men had about building shelters and setting winter wheat before the first snows, and having enough supplies to get through until the spring. Pammy Fannon was expecting her second-born in February, and she worried about a midwife.

Tavey is sure with herbs and ointments, Pammy fretted, but she’s only delivered a handful of babes. I do wish Corinne had come with us.

Corinne is nearly fifty, Iona scoffed. She wasn’t about to make the crossing and start her life over again in the wilderness. Tavey will do fine by you.

Who will deliver me, Elsie wondered, fear trying to work its way back into the hollow place inside of her. Tavey’s arrival helped her stave it off a little longer.

Bruce did well by you, Tavey said with no little pride. He got you two pounds, ten shillings.

Elsie’s eyes widened. So much? How?

Jacky’s tools, Mr. Vance said, coming to join them. He had a fine set of smithy tools from his time apprenticing. There was the small anvil, some harness, and ax heads he’d made. A few other bits, Mr. Vance said, trailing off as Elsie faced away.

She was glad for the money but hearing the litany of objects Jacky had gathered with such pride was too much.

Mr. Bridger came while you were out, Iona said. Three pounds he’s demanding.

Three pounds, three shillings, Pammy added.

Is that what all our passages cost? Sally asked.

It’s a dear price, Pammy said. Could have bought our own land back in Ireland for that.

And where would you have bought it? Iona challenged. Galway? Limerick? Think you’d be made welcome anywhere the land is decent enough to yield?

Catholics would’ve chased you right out again, Sally said.

Ladies, please, Mr. Vance said, holding up his hands. Your menfolk knew the costs and the risks, and we all accepted them to find a better life. We will be leaving tomorrow to make that dream come to pass.

What about Elsie? Pammy asked. She’s not got enough to pay passage.

Don’t you worry for Elsie, Mr. Vance said. We’ll do what we can for her. Your men will be returning with news any time. I’m sure you’ll want to see to them.

The women dispersed, a few still muttering. Elsie watched them go. An idea had taken root, and she waited until the room cleared enough not to be overheard.

Tavey, she said, catching the other woman’s attention. I’ve another thing to sell. Would you have a look at it and say if you think it would fetch a fair price?

Elsie—

Please. She couldn’t hold back the fear in her voice.

Tavey grew solemn and nodded.

Mr. Vance was still herding women up the narrow stairs to the rooms above. He gave them both an encouraging nod as they passed. Back in the room, Elsie found the lovely linen shawl Ailee had given her. She drew it out from where she’d carefully swaddled it in her satchel.

She unwrapped it and laid it out on the bed. The creamy linen was silken to the touch, and the cheyne lace roses sewn onto the angled shawl were elegant and done with a practiced hand.

This was Ailee’s, Tavey said, momentarily taken aback. I saw it afore we boarded in Londonderry.

She gave it to me, Elsie told her, the day before we made port. She said to sell it should I need the money.

Tavey looked pained. Oh, dear, you should keep this. It’s a treasure.

Elsie swallowed against tears. I need the money more.

You don’t fret about that money. I mean it, Elsie. She wrapped the shawl up again and pressed it back into Elsie’s hands. You keep this.

Elsie hugged the fragile linen close to her. Tavey—

I’ll hear not another word on the matter. Tavey crossed her arms.

Elsie nodded, unable to argue the point any longer. The thought of selling the shawl made her sick inside. It was the last tie she had to Ailee.

Now, you come with us and eat a good meal, Tavey told her. "And I won’t hear any arguments. You need