Daughter of the Loom (Bells of Lowell Book #1) (32 page)

Lilly stopped in her tracks. “Is there some reason you came calling upon me tonight, or were you merely hoping to heap more misery on what has been a wretched week?”

He pulled her hand into his arm and tugged her along toward town. “Wretched because I came to the mill with Isabelle? Because if that’s the case, I’ve come to set your mind at ease,” he said with a smile.

She moved onward, intrigued by his statement. “How so?”

“Isabelle has returned to Boston to find a man she considers more suitable. She wants to live among her privileged friends in Boston, and of course I have no interest in living anywhere but Lowell. When I made it clear we were not of like minds, she insisted on immediately returning to Boston.”

The moonlight shone upon Matthew’s finely chiseled profile. As he turned and smiled, Lilly’s heart began to melt—his gaze warm upon her icy heart. Quickly she turned away, forcing herself to remember the pain he had caused in the past. Matthew Cheever would not hurt her again. “And you think that because Isabelle has rushed off to Boston, you’ll begin calling on me. After all, I should fall at your feet in thankfulness for the privilege. Is that correct?”

Matthew stared at her in obvious disbelief. “What has gotten into you, Lilly? You sound angry and bitter.”

“Perhaps because I
am
angry and bitter. And it’s you that’s helped to turn me into what I am, Matthew,” she fired, her hands curled into fists.

Matthew looked down at her. “Take charge of your own life, Lilly. I’m not the cause of your happiness or your sadness. You’re the girl who once told me your joy was in the Lord. Is it not still so? Because you’ve fallen upon hard times, have you forgotten where true happiness lies?”

She knew he was right, but that only served to increase her anger. “How dare you talk to me about bitterness or happiness, Matthew. You’ve experienced nothing but prosperity and good times. Come and talk to me when you’ve had to suffer losses, and we’ll see where
your
joy lies,” she spat.

“I’m sorry,” he offered in a voice that suggested true sympathy. “I know your losses have been great. Perhaps we should change the subject to something more neutral,” he suggested as they sat down in the Wareham restaurant.

“Coffee, tea, hot cider?” said the young man who stood poised to wait upon them.

“Tea,” Lilly replied.

“I’ll have tea, also,” Matthew said, then turned back toward Lilly. Before he could speak, however, several other patrons entered the room, their voices loud and excited.

“The mills are truly giving life to this community,” an older man said to the group. “I would have been in the poorhouse by now, but the mills brought prosperity to my business.”

“You don’t have to sell me on it, Benjamin,” another man said. “I couldn’t be more delighted. I was ready to take a loss on the farm and move south with my sister. I watched my father die trying to work the land, and I wasn’t going to follow suit.”

The words hit Lilly hard. She’d never heard any of the locals, with exception to the Cheevers, sing the praises of the mills. How could they be so delighted to see the land torn up and scarred with huge brick monstrosities?

“Without this industrialization, my boy would have had to leave the area to find work. He was certainly no farmer and no storekeeper,” the first man continued. “I know at first I was against the mills, but in the past five years they’ve definitely convinced me. I don’t know when I’ve enjoyed a better life.”

Lilly looked up to find Matthew watching her. He knew she’d overheard the conversation. It was hard not to as the men had taken the table next to theirs. Without taking his gaze from her face, Matthew reached out and took hold of her hand.

“I’m not the devil, and neither is Kirk Boott.”

Lilly swallowed hard. Matthew’s touch was doing things to her that she’d just as soon ignore. But she couldn’t. She tried to fight it, but the memories came rushing back. Memories of his tender touch, his sweet, soft words, his gentleness.

Matthew’s voice was low, almost husky, as he added, “When you look at the overall scheme of things, more people have prospered from this than suffered.”

Lilly pushed aside the memories and replaced them with anger, for it was her only defense. “So my suffering and that of my family’s is unimportant because more people have prospered than endured what we have?”

“The mills didn’t rob you. Lewis did,” Matthew said matter-of-factly. “Sooner or later, you’re going to have to understand that.”

“Lewis may have squandered the money given him by the Associates, but he would never have had the money to begin with if it hadn’t been for their greediness to buy up all the land.”

“Lilly, be fair.”

She pulled her hand away. “Like the Corporation has been fair to me—to my father?”

“Your family received more than most,” Matthew countered. “Your father didn’t have to sell, but it was prosperous to do so.”

“Lewis connived him into doing it.”

“Lewis didn’t want to be a farmer. Your father knew that—knew, too, that he was getting too old to run the place alone.”

“He had me!” Lilly exclaimed, her voice raising an octave.

Matthew shook his head. “No, Lilly, he thought you belonged to me.”

Lilly felt the age-old tightness in her chest. The misery of the past few years and the bitterness that had taken root in her heart caused her no end of pain. She lowered her gaze to the table, fighting the urge to cry. It would do no good. It couldn’t take back the years of sorrow.

The waiter came with their tea, but Lilly could hardly drink it. She wanted to return home, to hide away in her bed and never get up again. She wanted to forget about bells and roving and loud machines that she seemed to hear long after they’d been turned off.

“I didn’t ask you out to fight with you, Lilly.” Matthew’s words were soft and soothing. “I want to find a way to get beyond your anger with me.”

The men at the table beside her were laughing and discussing plans for the holidays. One man confided that the extra money his business had made would allow him to take his wife to see her mother in New York. Lilly felt ill.

“Your tea is getting cold,” Matthew offered after several minutes had passed in silence.

Still Lilly said nothing. As her emotions tumbled over each other, she tried desperately to think of a way to dismiss herself from the table without creating a scene.

Matthew picked up the conversation again as if nothing had ever happened. “Speaking of your brother, I’ve seen Lewis several times over the past few weeks. I didn’t realize he was back in Lowell. The last I knew he was in Nashua. What brings him back?”

Thinking of Lewis was the trick she needed to steep herself in protective anger. Looking up, she met Matthew’s gaze. “I have no idea. Lewis and his whereabouts aren’t a topic I care to discuss,” she said in what she hoped was her most dismissive tone.

Matthew reached across the table and took hold of her hand once again. “Lilly, this is important. I’m concerned that Lewis may be involved in some unsavory activity. I’m concerned that he and a man named William Thurston are up to no good. I want you to be honest with me,” he said, his voice sounding urgent.

“You’re hurting me,” Lilly said, pulling from his grasp. She pushed back her chair and stood up. Everyone turned to look, but Lilly didn’t care. “If you want to know, I suggest you invite Lewis to join you for tea,” she said as the waiter came to check on them, “because I certainly don’t want the tea—or your company.” Pulling her cloak around her shoulders, Lilly turned to leave. “Please don’t follow me, Matthew.”

Although Lilly truly expected him to come running after her as she stormed down the block, it appeared he had taken her words to heart. She glanced over her shoulder one last time. Matthew was nowhere to be seen.

Her thoughts turned to Lewis.
What is he up to?
she wondered. And what of that Thurston man? She remembered the name from when Kirk Boott had brought him and Nathan Appleton to the mill. Lilly knew nothing about William Thurston, but if there were underhanded deeds to be done, she had no doubt Lewis was involved.

Against Lilly’s wishes, he had occasionally called upon Prudence and probably several other girls who lived in different boardinghouses. Most likely he was garnering as much attention and money from the girls as his charm would permit. The thought of her brother preying upon girls who spent long, tedious hours in the mills sickened her.

Slowing her pace, Lilly tilted her head ever so slightly and listened. Footsteps. Perhaps Matthew was following her. In spite of her anger, she smiled and slowed her stride. A hand reached out to take hold of her, the arm coming around her shoulder.

“What are you doing out alone on this cold night?”

Lilly turned and looked up. Instead of Matthew, however, she looked into her brother’s face. “Lewis. How strange that you should suddenly appear.”

“Not so strange. I’m coming to call on your dear friend, Prudence. She promised to have a special gift for me this evening,” he said. “You do need to purchase something a little warmer than this cloak for winter, Lilly. And in case you haven’t noticed, it’s really quite shabby. They’ve been receiving new shipments of some very fine clothing in town.”

“I don’t have money for a new cloak, so there’s no need for me to go shopping. Obviously you have both time and money, Lewis. How is it that you can afford that new beaver hat?”

“Ah, not just the hat, but all of my clothing—even the boots and an expensive engraved pocket watch,” he replied. “Your little friends are most generous. Pru, Mary, and even little Franny make marvelous companions. So sweet and so giving. I’m going to have to redirect them soon, however. They truly enjoy buying me gifts, but now that my wardrobe is complete, I’d rather have their money.”

“Young ladies shouldn’t be buying articles of clothing for a man to whom they aren’t related. Nothing so personal should ever pass between you and those girls.”

“Ah, but they adore me.”

Lilly’s teeth were clenched so tightly that her jaw began to hurt. “You have no conscience, Lewis.” She wanted to hurt him, just as he was hurting the girls who worked in the mills—just as he had hurt her for years. “By the way, Lewis, exactly what
is
your relationship with William Thurston?”

He grabbed her arm, his fingers digging into her flesh. “How do you know about William Thurston?” His face was etched in both anger and fear.

Lilly met his gaze and pulled loose of his grasp. “So you
have
formed some kind of alliance with Mr. Thurston. You’re planning something terrible, aren’t you, Lewis?” she asked as they reached the boardinghouse.

He pushed her against the cold, hard bricks of the house and pinned her there, his hands on either side of her shoulders. “I want to know who has been making inquiries. How have you come by this information, Lilly? I trust you remember how cruel I can be when you’re not cooperative,” he threatened.

“I’m not a little girl anymore, Lewis. You no longer frighten me, and I’ll not tell you what I know. Suffice it to say that you have been seen in Thurston’s company, and people are wondering about such a liaison. Perhaps you and Thurston should consider setting aside any plans you might have—unless they be for good,” she said, ducking under his arm and hurrying inside.

Lilly leaned against the front door and listened to the sound of her brother’s footsteps as he walked away from the house. Prudence would have no gentleman caller this night.

Chapter 24

Matthew and Kirk pulled on their gloves and mounted their horses, one a bay gelding, the other a chestnut mare. “I want to ride out toward the falls,” Kirk said as the horses began to trot away from the livery. Matthew nodded as both men urged their horses into a gallop and moved toward the outskirts of town. It was an unseasonably warm December Sunday, perfect for a ride in the country and talk of the Associates’ expansion projects.

“The funding has been arranged for additional mills,” Kirk said as they neared Pawtucket Falls. “We’re going to begin work on another canal this spring, as soon as the ground has thawed sufficiently. Which means additional work for Hugh and his Irishmen. There’s certainly been no lack of work for them when the weather cooperates. I worry about problems through the winter, though. Idle hands can breed problems. Speaking of which, you know how disappointed I was with the bishop’s decision to delay his visit.”

Matthew moved his horse ahead of Boott’s, leading the way through a thick stand of leafless trees. “I understand, but we can’t move forward with building a church during the dead of winter, either. There are plans to send a priest for Christmas mass. That should help.”

Shots rang out in the distance, and Matthew tightened the hold on his reins. “Someone hunting for dinner, I suspect,” he said, glancing over his shoulder and then shifting in his saddle to gain a better view.

Boott fought to control his gelding, but the horse reared and dumped Kirk off the back. After hitting the ground, Boott didn’t so much as try to get out of the way of the stomping horse.

“Whoa there, boy,” Matthew called out to the horse in a reassuring tone. Turning his own horse, Matthew approached slowly, not wanting to startle Boott’s horse, and grabbed the reins. Another shot echoed in the distance, followed by the sound of pounding hooves. Somebody was hunting, but not for dinner. Matthew jumped down from his horse, holding fast to both sets of reins. Trying to take shelter among the trees, he looked off into the distance, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone, wanting to make sense of what was happening. He looked to where Boott lay on the ground. There was no movement, no sign of life. “Mr. Boott, can you hear me?” he called.

There was no answer. Crawling closer, Matthew could see that there was blood along Boott’s temple. Apparently he’d hit his head when the horse had thrown him. Another cursory glance revealed a telltale reddish stain on Kirk’s pant leg. He’d been shot! Matthew had to get Kirk to a doctor. Struggling under Boott’s weight, he lifted the man into his arms and then hoisted him onto the horse. Then Matthew held the older man in the saddle while mounting up behind him. He pulled his own horse along by the reins. Every muscle in his body was stretched taut, anxiously awaiting the next shot, expecting to feel his flesh torn open by the searing pain of a lead ball. He urged the horse onward, praying they would be safe.