Daughter of the Loom (Bells of Lowell Book #1) (3 page)

Miss Addie obviously expected her to become smitten by the whole affair. Any further denial of interest was only going to cause additional delay in the cleaning-up process, so hopefully a neutral answer would suffice. “We’ll see, Miss Addie. We’ll see.”

Addie nodded and rose from her chair. Each of the women skillfully balanced an armload of dirty plates and bowls and headed toward the kitchen. While Addie put the dishes to soak, Lilly began to take stock of the larder and what they might prepare for supper. Her thoughts ran rampant.

I’m actually here. Here, where God can use me best
, Lilly reasoned. Although she had struggled in her spiritual walk, even going so far as to give up her Bible readings and church, Lilly knew God had a purpose in bringing her here to the mills. He would use her to make right the very thing that had brought such tragedy to her family.

Then everything shall be better
, Lilly assured herself.
I will find a way to drive the mills out of Lowell, and God will reward me and bless my life
. Lilly looked over her shoulder, almost fearful she’d spoken her thoughts aloud. Addie was nowhere in sight.

Lilly breathed a sigh of relief to find herself alone. Addie would never understand Lilly’s feelings. Addie didn’t know what it was to have the Association come in and destroy the land she’d come to love—demolish her father’s hopes—steal her inheritance. Had Lilly truly not felt led of God to come here to the mills, there was no telling what might have become of her. Women without protectors suffered greatly.

Well, it is certain the mills will offer me no protection
, Lilly reasoned. She picked up a bag of flour and balanced this with a can of lard. “I can do this,” she whispered. “I can do whatever I have to, to make it all right again.”

“Did you say something, my dear?” Addie questioned, popping into the room.

Lilly smiled. “I was just saying that I’ve found the ingredients to make bread. Come and I’ll show you what’s to be done.”

Scooping heaping cups of flour into a bowl, Lilly then began measuring lard and scalding milk. “Why in the world did you ever take this position if you don’t know how to cook, Miss Addie?” she inquired while continuing to prepare the ingredients for a half dozen loaves of bread.

Addie wiped her hands on her apron, then blotted the hem against her perspiring neck. “It’s a long story. Suffice it to say, our father managed to die while owing more creditors in Boston than either my sister or I knew existed. Mintie and I were reared in a family of privilege and position—Boston society,” she explained proudly. “But when the Judge—that’s what we always called our father—died, the creditors came calling, and there was no stopping them until we’d sold our home and almost all of our belongings. Suddenly Mintie and I found ourselves not only penniless but friendless. People of class want nothing to do with you once you’ve lost everything. We had to find some way to support ourselves, and we read in the newspaper that they needed boardinghouse keepers, as the mills were expanding. Of course, the Judge had once been against the mills. He figured them to be full of spies. In fact, he wouldn’t have anything to do with them.”

“Would that more men were like him,” Lilly muttered.

Addie didn’t seem to hear the remark and continued with her explanation. “Mintie sent a letter of inquiry to Tracy Jackson, one of the Boston Associates. He and the Judge had been friends, and I think he took pity on us. In any event, after receiving Mr. Jackson’s reply, Mintie decided it was a magnificent opportunity for us to take employment here. She said it would be a job of great virtue for two spinsters. She’s very practical, you know.” Then with a twinkle in her eye, the older woman added in a hushed, almost ominous tone, “She also thought it a good way to keep an eye out for British spies.”

Lilly couldn’t help but giggle. The very thought of anyone harboring such ideas was amusing. The war had been over for a very long time, and England was now considered an ally. How strange that Addie’s sister should still be worried over such a thing.

“During our years at home, Mintie was always in the kitchen helping cook and run the Judge’s household. Like I said, she’s very practical. She’s tried to help me with my cooking, but she has twenty men to cook, clean, and wash for in her own boardinghouse. So she’s busy all day and most of the evening,” Addie confided. “Sometimes that’s a relief and other times it leaves me quite lonely.”

A mixture of sorrow and pain lingered on Adelaide’s face. Lilly wondered if her memories of the past, mixed with her present failures at the boardinghouse, caused Miss Addie undo grief. “You don’t need to explain further, Miss Addie,” Lilly whispered, giving the older woman a reassuring smile. “I find myself in much the same predicament.”

Addie nodded and wiped away a stray tear that had managed to escape and roll down her plump cheek. “You’ll not have long to suffer, I’m sure. With your beauty, I don’t know how you’ve managed to remain single this long. You’ll no doubt be married before you’re even here a year. You’re such a pretty little thing, so young and full of life. Why, you’ve just begun to live. Now, Miss Mintie and I, that’s a different story. At our age, we don’t have men lining up at the door anxious to pledge their devotion.”

“Neither of you ever married?” Lilly blurted, immediately wishing she could take back the words as a look of sorrow once again returned to Addie’s face.

“I was betrothed years ago, but father insisted that I wait to marry until Mintie found a proper suitor. He argued that the eldest should marry first. Unfortunately, a proper suitor didn’t come along, and my young beau tired of waiting. Not that I blame him. He was quite a handsome man, my Charles, even if I do say so myself. We were well suited. Both of us enjoyed laughter and wanted lots of children. Last I heard, he and his wife had seven children and a multitude of grandchildren.” She hesitated for a moment and sighed. “Now, why don’t you tell me about all the beaux who must have come knocking on your door, Lilly. I’ll wager we don’t have enough hours remaining in the day for the telling of those tales.”

“Quite the contrary, Miss Addie. In fact, I’ve had only one beau; and much like your courtship with Charles, my relationship with Matthew Cheever was destined for failure.” She paused, transfixed for the briefest of moments. “But no matter,” she continued. “We’ve chosen our separate paths.” Silence hung in the room, creating an emptiness that needed to be filled, a void that too closely resembled her barren heart.

Chapter 2

Boston, Massachusetts

Matthew Cheever watched closely as Nathan Appleton glanced toward his wife at the end of the table. Appleton nodded his head and the couple rose in unison. “Shall we adjourn to the library, gentlemen? I believe there are cigars and a fine bottle of port that need our attention. Ladies, I’m certain my wife has some new piece of needlework or a book of poetry she wishes to discuss with you in the music room.”

The two groups took their respective cues, the men following Nathan to the library and the women trailing along behind Jasmine Appleton in customary fashion. The meal had been superb, but it was obvious the men now longed to be done with the formalities so that they could finally get to the business at hand—the
real
reason they had gathered: to report and discuss their successes and formulate their plans for the future. Men’s business. Aside from obvious social impropriety, their wives’ total inability to comprehend matters dealing with business forbade any interesting discussions at supper. They had managed a brief conversation regarding their good fortune in escaping the disastrous results of the depression that had devastated many of their friends. But with their money invested in the Lowell project, none of them had been adversely affected. When Jasmine realized her husband was discussing such a disturbing topic while their guests were being served crème brûlée, she had lovingly chastised him and called a halt to their conversation.

“Finally, gentlemen,” Nathan remarked as he offered a humidor filled with an array of pungent imported cigars. The men stroked the tightly wound tubes of tobacco between their fingers, sniffing them the way their wives inhaled the sweet aroma of summer’s first rose. Finally, after much ceremony, each of them clipped off the cigar’s end and settled back to puff on the aromatic offering.

Matthew felt enthralled by the scene unfolding before him. It was difficult to believe that he could find himself among this group of influential men. Strange, he thought, how opportunities arise from the most unexpected circumstances.

“Listen and learn,” Kirk Boott instructed in a barely audible tone.

Matthew nodded, chiding himself for getting caught up in his own thoughts, even if only for a few moments.

“As I was saying at supper before my wife cut me short, we’ve been most fortunate, gentlemen. Many here in Boston have been suffering great losses, and I fear they will continue for at least the remainder of the year. Not a major depression, perhaps, but certainly those who have invested at the wrong time and in the wrong places have suffered dramatically. Fortunately for all of us,” Nathan commented, surveying the room filled with men, “we’ve experienced nothing but profit. Our project has been every bit the success we had anticipated.”

“That’s true enough, Nathan,” Tracy Jackson remarked, “and with the Appleton Mill opening just last month and three other mills slated for opening next year, we’ll see even greater profits in the years to come. Textiles will be our future and fortune. My only regret is that Francis didn’t live long enough to see his plan to fruition.”

“Agreed, Tracy, but your brother-in-law will never be forgotten. I can think of no greater honor we could have paid than to make the town his namesake.”

Tracy nodded his head. “That’s true, although I think perhaps some of the locals resented the town’s name being changed to Lowell. It appears they’re now becoming accustomed to the change, and with the daily influx of newcomers to the town, I believe the name has taken hold.”

“I’m not so sure the old farm families have accepted the renaming of East Chelmsford just yet,” Matthew interjected. A wave of embarrassment washed over Matthew as he realized he’d spoken the words aloud. He was here to listen and learn, not to necessarily voice an opinion.

All heads turned toward him, making his embarrassment even more complete. Kirk Boott gave him a slight smile before turning to the others. “I believe all of you know Matthew Cheever. He has strong ties to the Chelmsford farming community. He keeps me abreast of any unrest that may be stirring among the locals. Most of it has been settled by now, of course, but Matthew can tell you that many of the old East Chelmsford landowners still resent us—particularly those of us involved in purchasing their land.”

Tracy Jackson swirled the deep purple liquid in his snifter. “Don’t tell me they’re still contending they were duped.”

Boott looked to Matthew. “Go ahead,” he encouraged.

“I’m afraid so,” Matthew responded, feeling strengthened by Boott’s approval. “Many say you deceived them.”

“How so? They were paid a fair price,” Appleton retorted.

“It’s not the money, although they do believe they were underpaid,” Matthew replied. “Those landowners truly believed the land would continue to be used for agrarian purposes. They sold their acreage based on that belief and say that Mr. Boott told them he planned to plant crops and raise sheep. Now they deeply resent the industrialization of their land.”

“Surely they didn’t believe Kirk was going to become a country squire,” Tracy jibed. Several of the men chuckled. “What they’re angry about is the fact that we’ve been able to put their land and water rights to profitable use.”

“Since Mr. Boott is the visible member of the Boston Associates, the one with whom the locals have had personal dealings, their anger toward him runs deep. They have even gone so far as to make up a song about Mr. Boott,” Matthew replied.

Tracy Jackson shook his head and laughed. “Ah, you’ve been memorialized, Kirk. I hope they haven’t portrayed you too shamefully. Why don’t you sing it for us, Mr. Cheever?” Jackson encouraged.

Kirk shifted in his chair. “If it’s a musical offering you’re wanting, Tracy, I’m sure the women have something to offer in the other room.”

“Come now, Kirk. It can’t be all that bad,” Tracy taunted. “Give us the gist of it, at least, Matthew.”

Kirk nodded his head. “But no singing,” he admonished his young protégé.

Matthew made a show of himself, clearing his throat as he walked to the center of the room. Gone was all hint of embarrassment. The other men applauded in delight as he gave an exaggerated bow. “No singing,” he promised as he turned toward Boott and received what he knew to be a forbidding glance. “Besides, I’m afraid my voice would send the gentlemen running out the front door. Now, let me see if I can remember a verse or two of that little ditty.

“There came a man from the old country,

the Merrimack River, he happened to see.

What a capital place for mills, quoth he,

Ri-toot, ri-noot, riumpty, ri-tooten-a.

And then these farmers so cute,

They gave all their lands and timber to Boott,

Ri-toot, ri-noot, ri-toot, riumpty, ri-tooten-a.”

A thunder of applause filled the room while he gave a slight bow and returned to his chair. Matthew sensed that Kirk was carefully observing him. He didn’t want to do anything to estrange their relationship, yet truth be known, he was enjoying the attention of these powerful men.

“You have the boy well trained, Kirk. I notice he ceased his recitation and came running back to his chair the moment you appeared bored by his presentation.”

Matthew ignored Paul Moody’s remark but was somewhat surprised when Boott nodded, gave his friend a wry smile, and said in a voice loud enough for all to hear, “Let’s hope so. I believe I’ve earned my reputation among my business partners as well as the Lowell community.” The comment irked Matthew, who was no child. At twenty-five he was no one’s trained boy.

Nathan leaned forward and offered Kirk more port. “The last I heard, they were referring to you as the tyrant-in-residence.”