Airmail

 Later, after their discussion, the Captain called the other members of the crew to reboard and be briefed on their situation. 

“Listen, y’all,” said Little Red. “You know already that there’s some weird things happening at the northwestern border area. I’ve an idea about what, but not why. So now we need to make a detour and fetch a package.”

“Time to head northwards for a bit, then.”

“What kinda package? Asked Tira.

“The one you left with the Catawba Nation last winter.”

“I was afraid you were gonna say somethin’ along those lines.” 

"It's like this," said Captain Willie. "We are going to take him over the mountain with us, into Shawnee Territory."

"Why?" asked Tira. "What did those folks ever do to us that we got to dump him on them? Sounds like some kinda punishment if you ask me."

Tira shook her head glumly. “That’s once package I would be happy not seein’ again.”

“Or smelling either,” chimed Kennia.

“Yeah, just what do we need him for, anyhow?”

“I can answer that” replied Little Red. “Your friend. . .”

“Not mine!” Tira busted in.

“Very well, your, ahem, acquaintance is related to someone of great importance to our mission. Bringing him along will get us this person’s full attention, Hopefully. And then we can get him to listen to what I have to say.”

”Which is?” Asked Tira pointedly.

”There are squatters in No man’s land between Carolina and the Shawnee lands.”

”So tell us something we don’t already know!” Burst Tira. ”There’s always some kinda fool ain’t where he’s supposed to be. Specially long any kinda border.”

Little Red nodded. ”Exactly. But these fools are trying to dig a mine without permission and they don’t intend to leave. Ever.”

Kennia whistled. ”Now that is not gonna sit well with either the Shawnee or the Tsalagi.”

”That’s an understatement.”

”I expect they’ve been keepin’ their own look-out on the borderlands, though. What makes you think they’ll want your input?” Said Kennia.

Return to the Mountains

It took several days to cross the entire piedmont region and now there were the mountains to navigate. The Sandflea was keeping to a moderate pace rather than speeding along. Her crew needed to keep an eye on the countryside as well as the sky. But it was the sky that delivered a surprise. Far in the distance the crew could see a tiny speck of an airship following them. As it came closer they could see that it was moving rapidly and meant to overtake them.

“Full stop!” Cried Captain Willie. “We gotta to see what’s goin’ on with this fella.”
“Been expecting a message, have you?” asked Kennia.
The captain shrugged. “Figured it was bound to happen. Everything so vague-like and fishy. Might as well get some more intel.”

As an airship doesn’t exactly stop on a dime so some time had passed before the Sandflea was moored. Meanwhile, the smaller airship had caught-up with them and its pilot had shimmied down a knotted rope. He waved wildly as he strode towards them.
“Hey there Miss Kennia and Miss Tira! How y’all doin’?”
Mike, for it was him, gave her hand a vigorous shake.
“What have y’all ladies done with your captain?”
“He’s still in the cockpit with the new spy lady. No need for everyone to come out. Tira and I just wanted to stretch our legs a bit.”
“I’ll just pop in and wag my jaws at him for a bit.”

Mike had been aboard the Sandflea enough times that he could easily find his own way up the ladder and to the cockpit.
“Hey there, captain! How’re you?”
“Well enough, I suppose. What news do you have?”
“You too, Miss. ‘Fraid I don’t remember your name! You must be our new lady super-sleuth, am I right?”
“My name is Rose Chavous.”
“Captain, Miss Rose,” Mike bobbed his head in greeting. Since he was very tall and the airship was cramped, his head was already bent forward but he still managed a polite dip.
“Aw, just call me Little Red!” She laughed and held out her hand in greeting. “So what’s the latest news?”

Later, after their discussion, the Captain called the other members of the crew to reboard and be briefed on their situation.
“Listen, y’all,” said Little Red. “You know already that there’s some weird things happening at the northwestern border area. I’ve an idea about what, but not why. So now we need to make a detour and fetch a package.”
“What kinda package? Asked Tira.
“The one you left with the Catawba Nation last winter.”
“I was afraid you were gonna say somethin’ along those lines.” 

It took a while

but after a few more days journey, the Sandflea's crew was once more in sight of the mountains. There was a distinct chill to the air, even though it was early summer on the coast. The mountains were their own, local climate that was more than a bit cooler than downstate, especially in the early mornings. Unfortunately, that also meant that the weather was much rainier than in the piedmont area as the warm, moist coastal breezes encountered the Blueridge Mountains and dumped their cargo of moisture as rain.

"Almost there" said Little Red. "I never did like hot weather."
Tira, who was still cross about her vacation being shortened at a moment's notice, just shrugged. She had brought some of her popular mechanics magazines with her so she wasn't entirely unhappy. But she had planned to read them while lying on the beach, not while bundled into a cramped airship.

“So what will we do when we arrive? Do you have a plan?” The Captain shrugged, “ask our new navigator. She’s the one with the intelligence, I’m mostly about the transportation.”

“Well, you are the captain, ain’t ya?” snapped Tira. “You must have some idea what we doing out here. We were in the mountains just a few weeks ago, so somethin’ must be happenin’ or we wouldn’t be heading back to soon.”

 “Oh, I have a plan, alright. A millions plans in fact,” said Little Red. “Won’t know which one is the right plan till we get there and see for ourselves, first. Then we can do the plan thang.”

Tira just rolled her eyes.

 “The wind is picking-up now that we are coming up on the foothills. I hate that calm in the Piedmont.”

Full Speed Ahead!!!

Well, I'm back! And in considerably better mental and physical health. And I've really missed working on this story, so here comes another try.

Where do we go from here?

When I started this story, I had it roughly blocked-out and a plan of posting new chapters every other week. This plan clearly has not worked out! This is in part due to mental health issues; depression creates a "brain fog" for me that makes it hard for me to find and use words. It's like those cartoons where the cartoon character gets hit and falls down and we see the tweety-birds and stars circling over the character's head, almost out of reach.

I feel a lot better now but I need to rethink how this project is developed. It is tons of FUN, so I don't intend to toss it out! But I am leaning towards taking down the blog and just writing this as a regular novel and then publish the whole thing at once.  

What do y'all think? If there is still anyone watching (and I will certainly understand if there isn't!!!) 

More to follow!

In the airship cockpit the newest crew-member chatted with the Captain as they headed north by northwest. Clear skies and a light wind made for smooth flying over the central piedmont area of Carolina. Of course, that didn't mean that an afternoon thunderstorm wouldn't build-up suddenly, but for now they were safe.

“Somewhere around here is the remains of Cofitachequi what was.” said Captain Willie as he pointed through the windshield to the ground. “You know, the old Indian main town from when the Spanish first showed-up. Not really sure just where, of course, but somewheres hereabouts.”
“Hasn’t anyone tried to find the remains?” asked Little Red. “To investigate them?”
“Naw” answered the Captain. “No real idea of where to start. It could be just about anywhere round these parts. Then again, I think a lot of Indians don’t want it disturbed either. They don't take to outsiders putting their noses where they don't belong."
She nodded. “Understandable.”
"Tira and Kennia might know some more about it. They've got friends who are Catawba and Kennia's old school-mate is even married to a Catawba fella, but I don't know how interested they are in sharing with you. At least not until they get used to ya."
"Oh, I just kinda grow on folks. Eventually y'all won't wanna say good-bye to me!"
"We'll just have to wait and see" was the Captain's noncommittal response. Though Little Red was pretty sure she saw a slight smile under his mustache.
"Suit yerself."
"I always do."

North by Northwest

As the Sandflea flew northwestwards at a moderate speed Tira and Kennia continued their conversation about their new crew member.
“She said that Chavous was her mama’s family name, didn’t she? Wonder what happened to her daddy?”
Tira answered “And I wonder if she’s related to those Chavous.”
“Which ones? There’s folks named Chavous and Chaves all over the place in Tuscarora country.”
“You know the ones I mean.  The French ones. She sure ain't no Tuscarora.”
Kennia just shook her head. “Please, just let it be for once. We’re just on a mission together. It ain’t like we’re getting married or nothing. Let’s just focus on our work,”
Tira frowned. “I’m just saying, that’s all.”
“Well, let’s just say something else. What about your mechanics magazines? You bring some of them with you? There must be something interesting in them. That’s what you’re always tellin’ me at least.”
Tira smiled at her friend’s choice of an alternative topic.
“Yeah, we weren’t in port long enough for me to get caught-up with my readin’. I have a whole mess of readin’ to do when I’m not working. I do wish I’d had the time to give her a good look-over before we left Charleston, though.  There’s always somethin’ that needs adjusting, don’t ya know?”
Kennia patted her shoulder. “I know you’ll be busy keepin’ everything running right.” She signed as she looked at her pocket watch. “Now I must relieve our Captain before he gets too cranky from being cooped-up in that little cockpit. Maybe you oughta invent or design a bigger one for tall folks! See ya later in any case.”

                         *********************************************

Meanwhile, back at the mining camp (for that was what it really was), spring  had come to stay even in the higher reaches of the Appalachian Mountains. With the milder temperatures the men were becoming increasingly boisterous. No longer content to huddle around the wood-stove and drink coffee for warmth, a few had made some half-hearted attempts to plant a small kitchen garden as a way of passing the time. No one made any effort to plow and plant a commercial crop. The pair of oxen spent most of their days standing and chewing their cud. For better or for worse, the group had abandoned all pretense of starting a real farm. Some had taken to panning for gold in a nearby mountain stream but without much success. 

Tinned Peaches

The Sandflea’s interior was always crowded and never more so than at the beginning of a mission.  Extra supplies were crammed into every possible nook and cranny.  The ship was fast and maneuverable but she was built for speed, not luxury.  Even basic comfort could be hard to come by at times! Her crew had long since figured out how to make the most of the available space, of course.  During take-off, the captain and the navigator were in the cockpit and the rest of the crew were strapped into hanging seats just behind the cockpit. Take-off could be a bit of a bumpy ride until they reached their desired altitude and leveled off.

Once they were well underway the captain and navigator remained in the cockpit usually. But since the Sandflea had a splinter new crew-member, Captain Willy thought she should get acquainted with the airship’s layout as well as with the other crew-members.

Kennia and Tira had already headed to the crew area (it was too small to call it crew quarters!) In the back of the airship and were settling in. Tira  climbed over a carton of tinned peaches to get to her usual hammock, pulled her cap over her face, and promptly  started to snooze.  Kennia sat down on the carton and sized-up her new crew-mate.
“I envy her” said Little Red. “I get so wound-up at the beginning of a new mission that I can’t sleep to save my life.” She shook her head. “I just keep thinking over and over about all the mission details and wondering if I’ve missed something.”
“That doesn’t sound like much fun.” answered Kennia.
“No, it isn’t!”
 Kennia shrugged. She pointed to the crate on the floor. “This is the last of last year’s peach harvest. I get on good with the folks in Supply,” she grinned.
“Hope these don’t have too much sugar syrup in the cans. I hate when I taste more sugar than fruit.” Tira spoke from under her hat.
“Same here,” said Little Red. “I haven’t eaten peaches in ages!”
Tira just grunted a reply and pulled her cap further down over her face.
“Good to see that y’all are well-stocked. Who usually has kitchen duty? Or do y’all take turns? I’m not half-bad in the kitchen, even if it is a tiny one.”
“Mostly me,” replied Kennia, “and I am glad that there is someone else onboard who knows the way around an airship galley. Why don’t ya go down there now and see what ya think. We could use some better cookin’ on these trips.”
Little Red grinned and headed down the ladder to the galley quick as a wink.

Tira pulled her cap off of her face and looked around. “She gone?”
Kennia nodded.
“My god, we’ve got us a chatty one this time!”
“Least she’s awake! That’s better than Harry was. I used to wonder if we would even notice if he’d had a heart-attack and died in his chair,” answered Kennia.  “‘Sides, she’s supposed to be some kinda expert. That oughta come in handy if things get heated.”
“You mean when, don’t ya, not if,” replied Tira. “Things always get heated sooner or later.”
“Well, here’s hopin’ for later.  I for one could use some peace and quiet. Boredom even.”

The Audacity of Robert Smalls

"Michael B. Moore shares the story of escaped slave Robert Smalls, his great-great grandfather. Smalls commandeered a Confederate Naval vessel, freeing his family and two others. But Small's life story doesn't end there. Prepare to hear one of the least well-known, most important stories of the Civil War."

Meta post

Hej y'all!

Just a quick note to say that I have not forgotten about y'all. I even have an entire story chapter written on paper and just needing a bit of editing before I upload it. Unfortunately, I also have had some mental health issues that are (once more) interfering with my productivity. In other words depression makes working on anything to be like wading through molasses. I keep moving forward but veeeeerrrryyyyy slowly. 

Dec. 25th, 1837

"On Christmas day in 1837, the Africans and Native Americans who formed Florida’s Seminole Nation defeated a vastly superior U.S. invading army bent on cracking this early rainbow coalition and returning the Africans to slavery. The Seminole victory stands as a milestone in the march of American liberty."

Dec. 25, 1837: Christmas Day Freedom Fighters: Hidden History of the Seminole Anticolonial Struggle

(click on the link to learn more about these bad-ass Freedom Fighters!) 

Part the Third (in which we learn more of Kennia's backstory)

Kennia knew that she had only a few minutes to complete her search of the room and then exit the building.  Even if no one knew that the man was in this particular office, some must have seen him enter the building. She quickly tossed the room, no longer trying to be subtle.  She pulled drawers completely out of the cabinets and flung their contents to the floor when they proved to be of no value to her. Finally, there was only the locked cabinet remaining.

Kennia glared at the old man who was still squirming about on the floor. Rifle his pockets or pick the lock? Either way, time was running out! She figured he must have the keys to this office since he seemed used to coming and going there, so she opted for searching him.  The first chain she found held only his watch but the chain held exactly what she needed: keys! His keychain was heavy with keys but only a few were the small sort that would fit into a cabinet door-lock. Kennia quickly tried each in turn with the third one being the one to open the door. Yes! Here were the sorts of plans and schematics that could be the object of her search. Some of the plans were for a new type of boat, one designed to move under the water rather than over it. Fortunately the dossier was only about an inch thick so it wouldn’t be too difficult to pack. She wrapped it in the oilskin she’s brought for just this purpose and slipped it into her bucket under some of the damp cleaning rags.  Now it was time to escape!

She carefully closed and locked the cabinet door; hopefully, anyone who found the old man would think that a scuffle had taken place rather than industrial espionage. If she was really lucky, the man himself would be too embarrassed to admit to the night’s events and would try to keep the entire incident a secret. She turned to where he was still glaring daggers at her from his position on the floor.

Kennia dropped her working-class dialect as she addressed him. “Like I said earlier, it might be awfully hard to explain how you came to be in this position. You might seriously consider keeping your mouth closed on the matter.  Unless you like looking like a fool.” She turned and headed for the door. The entire episode had taken just over an hour. If she tried to leave the building now someone might notice and ask why she was leaving early. On the other hand, she didn’t dare risk that one of the other cleaners might chance upon her captive lying on the floor. Then she had an idea. She went out of the office and into the hallway and grabbed a bucket of water that the cleaning crew used to rinse their dirty rags and mops. She tucked the oilskin package in its covering safely out of the way and then upended the bucket of dirty water over her skirt. Damn it stunk! But now she has an excuse if anyone asked why she was leaving early.

Sure enough, the foreman gave her the stink-eye as she was going out the side door to the building.  “Where ya goin’ gal? It ain’t quittin’ time and I know that you ain’t finished yer cleanin’.”
“Yeah, boss, I spilled dirty water all over myself and now I need to go home and get clean.”
“Ya leave now, then don’t bother comin’ back. And don’t even think about askin’ fer pay. Ya can’t have worked hardly two hours.”
“No suh, I surely ain’t comin’ back.” Kennia shook her head. She felt herself starting to shake from the strain of her act. She breathed deeply to calm herself.
“Don’t ya start cryin’ now, “ warned the foreman. “If yer leavin’ on account of that someone tried to mess wit ya, maybe I can help ya get on someplace else. There’s heaps of these offices that need cleanin’ around here.”
Kennia was touched by the unexpected kindness in his voice. “No suh, I reckon I got to get me some other kinda work is all. But thank you fer askin’ anyways.”
“Suit yerself” he shrugged and turned away. Now that was a lucky break!

Looks what's up

at  Paper Thin Personas !!! Beauty in Bloomers: A Steampunk Paper Doll inspired by Amelia Bloomer

Rachel Cohen, the artist behind Paperthinpersons, writes:
"Erin Winslow proposed a steampunk set based on Amelia Bloomer’s women’s dress reform movement costume. My first thought was, “No Way!”"

Reparations

Jamaica calls for Britain to pay billions of pounds in reparations for slavery:

"Sir Hilary Beckles, chair of the Caricom Reparations Commission , has led calls for Cameron to start talks on making amends for slavery and referenced the prime minister’s ancestral links to the trade in the 1700s through his cousin six times removed, General Sir James Duff.

In an open letter in the Jamaica Observer, the academic wrote: “You are a grandson of the Jamaican soil who has been privileged and enriched by your forebears’ sins of the enslavement of our ancestors ... You are, Sir, a prized product of this land and the bonanza benefits reaped by your family and inherited by you continue to bind us together like birds of a feather.

“We ask not for handouts or any such acts of indecent submission. We merely ask that you acknowledge responsibility for your share of this situation and move to contribute in a joint programme of rehabilitation and renewal. The continuing suffering of our people, Sir, is as much your nation’s duty to alleviate as it is ours to resolve in steadfast acts of self-responsibility.”

(click on the headline link to see the entire article)

Part the Second (in which we learn more of Kennia's backstory)

This office appeared to be the right one for finding plans and blueprints. In fact there were far too many of them and the search was taking too much time. Yes! Here was pay dirt in plenty! She quickly flipped through files and notebooks, hunting for the elusive “doomsday machine” blueprints. And then, just as her eye caught a likely looking file folder, Kennia heard a noise out in the corridor. She quickly grabbed her soapy cleaning rag and started scrubbing at a spot on the surface of the large, mahogany desk. “Oh, no! Don’t let me get caught this close to success,” she worried. Her fear made her scrub all the harder and she almost didn’t notice when the door opened and a wrinkly old white man came into the room.  He was dressed in full plantation finery, complete with a string tie and straw hat to top-off his linen suit.
“Come here, gal, and let me get a look at ya,” said the old man.
Kennia played meek and dumb for all she was worth.
“Do you mean me, sir? I’m just doin’ the cleanin’, sir. It gets powerful dirty here sometimes. It surely does.”
“Never mind that. I told you to come over here where I can see ya. Stand by that lamp.” The old man pointed at the one he meant.
“Yes sir. Just as soon as I get done cleanin’ sir.” Kennia answered. She was so nervous at this point that she almost wasn’t acting the tremor in her voice. She was not about to let him get a good look at her face. Kennia knew that her best asset was the fact that poor women aren’t noticed much. She was just a pair of hands and a scrub brush to most of the people she’d encountered while in disguise.
The old man became more and more insistent and his tone turned from cajoling to spiteful.
“Now look here, colored gal. I just told you to come over by this lamp. Are you feeble-minded? When you get an order, you obey it!”
“Yes sir. I’ve got my cleanin’ to do, sir. Please just let me go about my business.” Kennia tried to circle round the fellow so that she could exit from the only door.  Unfortunately, he was prepared and stepped between her and the door. He took another step towards her and reached for her arm. She quickly jumped out of his reach which made him even angrier.
“Now I won’t be sassed by some uppity colored gal, do ya hear me?”
“Just let me be sir and I’ll just get goin’ on my way. I don’t want no trouble or nuthin’” She made one last attempt to reach the door but Kennia could see that playing dumb wasn’t working.  She smiled grimly yet the old man was too enraged to notice.
The old man took one more step towards her only to find himself being spun about and his right arm twisted behind his back. Kennia wrapped her right arm around his throat, allowing him barely enough air to keep him conscious.
“I ain’t no “colored gal” and I sure as hell ain’t no plaything!” she hissed.  The man gave a surprised grunt in response. “I expect you have a habit of wandering around here, sneaking up on the good-looking gals and seeing what you can get away with.  I don’t play that nonsense. Now I expect that you will not be cooperative so I’m just gonna tie you up for safe-keeping. I expect someone will find you tomorrow morning and let you loose.  But you might not want to tell them how you got this way. Might sound kinda embarrassing in fact.” As she spoke, Kennia deftly slipped a bit of cord around the right wrist and then the left.  His face was red from rage even though he still couldn’t manage to shout for help.  Kennia took some of her cleaning rags and stuffed them into his mouth, being sure to tie one around his head to hold the others in place. Then she tied his ankles as well. As soon as she released her grip on him, the old man sank to the floor, completely helpless although still angry enough to struggle.

Cherokee Syllabary

Part the First (in which we learn some of Kennia's backstory)

Gentle Readers (at least I hope there is more than one of you!), for this month’s story chapter we will go back in a time a few weeks and then back even further.

Kennia looked at the assembled Coquettes. Outwardly she was still laughing but the experience had not been nearly as carefree as she made out to her audience. She still replayed the events of that evening in her head as she lay in bed at night. . .

She was up north on a mission, out by herself, and trying to be discrete.  Her plan was to pretend to be a charwoman sent by an agency to clean offices. She figured this would give her an opportunity to peek into drawers and filing cabinets undetected. Cleaning crews weren’t well paid for their hard work and so people often quit on short notice and were replaced so no one would think it was odd to see a strange woman appear one evening. Kennia was dressed in a well-worn old woolen frock that would be typical for a working-class woman coming to the big city to look for employment. She had successfully carried out this plan on several other occasions. In fact this engineering firm was the last place left on her list and she was becoming increasingly worried that she would not find what she was after: plans, or at least a detailed description, of a rumored doomsday weapon.

The fabric of the old frock she was wearing was scratchy and she periodically stopped to adjust it, hoping for more comfort. She had a wooden bucket filled with soap and rags hung over her arm. And in the bottom of the bucket was a bit of oilskin in which to wrap any finds that she might make. Kennia sighed, straightened her bonnet for the fourth or fifth time, and walked up to the office building. The women from the regular cleaning crews were already waiting in the alley behind the building. One of them was the contact that had tipped Kennia about the likelihood of the plans being there but she couldn’t read very well and wasn’t sure which papers, if any, were useful. Kennia was careful not to show that she recognized the woman but just followed her and the others into the building.

The woman, Mary, turned to Kennia, “New gal, I gotta show ya what ya gotta clean,” and led her up several flights of stairs to the fourth floor.
“Here. I reckon this is a good place for you to start workin’. But first get ya some water in that bucket and get your soap and rags all lathered up  just fine.”
Kennia smiled. “Thank ya, kindly. I’ll just get to work now.”
The other woman grimaced. “Be careful now.” As she hurried down the corridor towards the stairs, she looked over her shoulder one last time and gave a little wave to Kennia.

The entire fourth floor of the building was occupied by an engineering firm, McMasters and Tate, but much of the space was used as laboratories. After fetching some water, Kennia took the first office on the right and began pretending to dust. Although there were locks on the desk drawers, none of them actually were locked.  She rifled through them and through the filing cabinet without hitting pay dirt. Kennia sighed.  Another dead end. She proceeded to the second office, one that was large and contained several filing cabinets and cupboards as well as a massive, mahogany desk. 

State Capitol, Columbia, SC, June 2015

Charleston 2015

I see that I had a number of visitors on Juneteenth, and they probably expected a blog post about Juneteenth. I'd made all my usual preparations, stocked-up on Black-eye Peas, rice, etc and had told all my Swedish friends within hearing about the holiday and its significance. But then, I did not write anything because I was in tears over the Charleston shooting. This shooting was aimed at the heart of the Black community:  Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church. Denmark Vesey's church. If you are not familiar with these names (or even if you are and want to learn more), please read The Charleston Massacre and the Cunning of White Supremacy. Dylann Roof is not some random maniac and his choice of location and victims were not accidental.

A Confederate war memorial in Charleston, SC.

If you look to the right-hand column, you can see a new category: Historical Works about SC. There is a link to the #CharlestonSyllabus, a crowdsourced,  annotated bibliography: 

#Charlestonsyllabus is more than a list. It is a community of people committed to critical thinking, truth telling and social transformation.”– Chad Williams

A matter of definitions

Back at the Charleston airship docks, the Captain tried to rally his crew's enthusiasm for their new crew mate.
“Told y’all this one was different!” he smirked.
“She’s, she’s white” said Kennia.
Tira’s expression was a study in consternation. “White folks been known to fall offa this ship. Just sayin’.”
“Now, now,” said the Captain. “Harry is white, too.”
“Naw,” said Kennia. “He’s Irish. Everybody knows that they aren’t really white even though they’ve got really pasty skins. Just look how they were treated in their own country by the English. The Irish were “just trash” same as well as brown-skinned folks are here and in Africa.”
Tira frowned in disapproval.
“This gal has a French last name and you know what that means. She’s some kinda Euro-trash no doubt.”
“She’s got red hair,” answered the Captain. “Maybe she’s got some Irish in her. Anyway, she’s our new workin’ partner an’ that’s that. ‘Sides, she’s only here for one mission so Tira, please make sure she doesn’t fall offa the ship.”
“At least not until after we don’t need her anymore” added Kennia.
“At least y’all have got another woman aboard. I’m the one who’s outnumbered by all y’all gals. And its not like you miss Harry, either. I don’t remember either one of y’all bein’ too fond of him.”
Tira just pressed her lips together while Kennia busied herself with checking her carpetbag and its contents.
“I can see this is gonna be a long trip,” muttered the Captain to himself.


****************************************

I've been wrestling (or wrastlin' as our airship crew would say) with this chapter for at least 2 weeks. I am trying to figure-out how to show the ugliness of racism while avoiding being ugly or using hurtful language, even in an example. I will NEVER use the "n-word" here at any time no matter what point I am trying to make. On the other hand racism is real and it is ugly and one of my motivations for writing this story is to fight racism by showing that it was not "inevitable."

Azie D. does a good job explaining the "Irish thing" in her video: