Irish Linen (17 page)

The Gibbons Mill weavers returned to their looms, buzzing with excitement over the last days’ holiday celebration. Meghan smiled and made all the right replies to her fellow workers, but her cheerfulness was forced. Her holiday had been disturbing, not joyful, to her.

She turned on her looms and kept herself busy working, while her mind replayed the events of Christmas day. She’d tried hard to enjoy her time with Rafferty; and for a while, in the afternoon, she actually had. Henry had an old fiddle, which to Meghan’s surprise, he played with amazing ability. Rafferty, buoyed by the music and the holiday spirit, had gotten up and danced like he and Meghan’s father had done in the early days … before the potato crops had failed and brought poverty, hunger, and disease.

Henry, apparently having learned an Irish ditty or two from one of the Irish mill workers, played a jig to which Rafferty not only danced but sang the words. Meghan had laughed and clapped her hands with the others until Rafferty had pulled her to her feet; she’d stumbled through the steps that she’d never quite been able to master as a young child.

Pleasantly winded, Meghan and the others had then shared a Christmas supper that, Meghan had to admit, rivaled any meal that had been cooked by Patty.

That Christmas night, Meghan had fallen asleep in
the chair immediately, pleasantly exhausted by the dancing and revelry. But hours later she’d been awakened in the early hours by a disturbing dream.

She’d been too keyed up with her reaction to the dream to go back to sleep. Miss Doddleberry’s snores hadn’t helped matters. Restless, Meghan had risen and moved her chair closer to the window to stare out into the night. The sky was clear and star-studded. A light blanket of snow had fallen since she’d retired for the evening, and she caught her breath at the beauty of the winter night. The moon glistened on the white-kissed tree branches and on the snow-laden roadway.

At first glance, it had been difficult to tell where the yard ended and the road began, until she saw the dip in the land that outlined the edge of the dirt carriage path. And as she’d studied the night, she’d trembled with the feelings brought on by the dream, for her sleep visions had been filled with Lucas … and how he’d come to her after she’d married Rafferty, begging, pleading with her to be his wife.

His declaration of love had been all the more disturbing to her upon awakening, for Meghan knew that in reality Lucas would never care enough, want her enough to make such a claim. And certainly not on bent knee!

In her dream, Meghan had consented to leave Rafferty for Lucas. She’d braved the scandal of leaving her husband to be with Lucas, but after enjoying her in his bed, Lucas had tired of her quickly. Pregnant with Lucas’s child, Meghan had found herself alone in Philadelphia, struggling to survive, but no one would hire a woman big with child—especially an Irishwoman. Rafferty, heartbroken at Meghan’s betrayal, heard about Lucas’s abandonment of her, and he came searching for his wife. He found Meghan in a ramshackle old house, working as a housemaid for a man
of questionable character. Rafferty rescued Meghan and took her back to Somerville to live with him. But while she shared his bed, she no longer had his respect or affection … a matter Rafferty had no intention of rectifying, as punishment for leaving him.

Meghan had a home and a child, but she’d lost Rafferty’s affection and her own self-respect. She had to be content with only Rafferty’s lust and a child who resembled his father—the man she’d lost and sacrificed everything for.

“Lucas,” she murmured, feeling her old longing for him overwhelm her as she moved to check the smooth running of each loom. “I must forget ye.”

In the early darkened hours of the day following Christmas, Meghan had made the decision to marry Rafferty. It was the right and only thing to do, she’d realized, to keep her self-respect and her heart intact.

Her heart intact? Love? Was that why she couldn’t stop wanting Lucas Ridgely? Because she loved him? No! She couldn’t be that insane!

She knew she’d made the best decision about Rafferty. She needed to get on with her life, forget such foolish girlish fancies.

Yet, why did she feel so disheartened?

“Meghan.” Mari Bright interrupted Meghan’s painful musings. “You’re quiet this day. Did you not enjoy your holiday in Somerville?”

Meghan realized that she must go on and be happy with her decision and her life. “It was a fine time,” she said. She held up her hand to display her new ring. “Rafferty gave me this.”

Mari gasped. “It’s lovely!”

“ ‘Tis my betrothal ring,” Meghan said. She was still uncomfortable with the obvious excessive expense of the ring, and where Rafferty had gotten it.

The woman called out to the other workers to come
and see Meghan’s ring; and as the day progressed, each one drifted over to admire the ring as their time and work load permitted.

“Mother of God!” one girl exclaimed. “ Tis beautiful beyond all. I wish me intended had such riches to spend.”

The young woman’s comment only made Meghan feel more uneasy about the ring. Where did Rafferty purchase it? Surely, such jewelry wasn’t available at the Somerville store? He’d said he’d come by the ring honestly, and she had tried to believe it, but couldn’t Yet, she realized how little she knew about Rafferty’s finances. She’d assumed he’d made modest wages; he’d been so adamant to see her employed. It had taken him two years to save the cost of her and her father’s passage to America. Could Rafferty have earned enough money to buy her an expensive betrothal ring since?

Immediately after that thought came guilt. She had no reason to doubt Rafferty. He’d given her so much. Besides paying for her voyage, he’d outfitted her with two new gowns. If she knew so little of his finances, it was her own fault. Had she asked him about money? Perhaps he was still paying for the ring? She was his fiancé; she had a right to know and to work to help him.

Rafferty had pretended to be pleased when she’d given him his Christmas gift, but she could see in his expression that he wasn’t. And she hadn’t asked him why until he’d taken her home last night. She’d learned then that he’d sold his father’s watch after he’d come to America. He’d needed the money enough to sell something precious.

Disturbed by her thoughts, Meghan shut off her machines, gathered her cloak, and went out into the night without waiting for Susan or one of Patty’s other girls. She’d gone only a few yards when she felt someone
grab her arm. Heart thumping, she turned and faced Catherine Brown, the spinner who’d been watching her and Lucas in the weaving room on Christmas Eve.

“Catherine.” At first, she’d been afraid that it was Phelps, perhaps furious with her for stirring up a fuss at the mill. The man had been absent from work all day, and the rumor about the floor was that the man had been suspended from the floor until his behavior had been investigated. But none of the workers had been called into Mr. Simmons’s office to be questioned. Her relief that it wasn’t Phelps made her smile at the woman.

“You think you’re better than the rest of us,” the woman said with a snarl. “I saw you talking with Lucas Ridgely. If you think you’ll get an increase in pay by playing up to him, you’re mistaken.”

The smile left Meghan’s face and she stared at Catherine in shock. “I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“What did you say to him, McBride?” Catherine said angrily. “When you left him, the man couldn’t keep his eyes off you. You must have said something!”

“He asked me about me work is all.” She could feel her face drain of all color.

The other woman laughed harshly. “I’m sure,” she said. “Don’t think you’ll keep the man’s interest,
Irish.
Lucas Ridgely is an attractive man. He can have any woman he wants in his own class. You’ll never be rich or woman enough for him.”

“You’re wrong about this, Catherine. I’ve no interest in Mr. Ridgely,” she lied, “and he has none in me.” She felt raw, exposed, and she hoped the other woman couldn’t see it.

The spinner looked unconvinced. “Mrs. Gibbons doesn’t put up with girls who are immoral, McBride.”

Meghan bristled. “Then I suggest ye look to yourself,”
she snapped, “for I’ve done nothing to be ashamed of.” She raised her eyebrows. “Can you say the same?” Then she spun on her heels and strode away.

By the time she reached Patty’s, Meghan felt a tight-ness in her chest. The raw nerve exposed by Cather- ine’s accusation had been replaced with her anger. How dare the woman speak to her like that? If she wanted to speak with Lucas Ridgely, then she would do so—and anytime she desired!

Catherine Brown can go jump off the mill building roof for all I care!
Hadn’t Susan warned her about Cather- ine? She mustn’t let the woman bother her!

But as the evening wore on, Meghan’s anger faded and turned against her, and she felt shaky and vulner- able again. She had lied when she’d told Catherine that she wasn’t interested in Lucas. She had promised her- self she’d marry Rafferty, yet she couldn’t forget Lu- cas … The fact of Phelps’s absence at the mill that day had led Meghan to believe, to hope, that Lucas had believed her after all and done something about it.

Late that night as she stared up at the ceiling at Patty’s, Meghan wondered what she would do if Lucas asked her to be his wife. But did her answer really matter? Lucas was gone. Rafferty was her fiancé, and she owed him her new life.

But would her gratitude to Rafferty sustain her for the rest of their married lives? Would she be happy with Rafferty—after experiencing a taste of heaven in Lucas’s arms?

She sighed and closed her eyes. She’d find out in the years to come, she realized.

When she finally fell asleep, Meghan dreamed not of her marriage to Rafferty, but of a man with golden hair and gleaming dark eyes. When she awoke the next morning, she had a heart made heavy by the reality of
her life. She rose, dressed, and prepared for another workday.

Meghan received a summons to see the head foreman in his office just before the midday dinner hour. The day had started badly when she saw Phelps back at work on the weaving floor. So much for her faith in Lucas Ridgely. Ignoring the odious man, she shut down her looms and, then, fighting her feeling of trepidation, she descended three flights of stairs to George Simmons’s office.

They are going to dismiss me. They’ve decided I’ve lied, and I’m the one they want to leave, not Mathew Phelps.
She wanted to rant and rave at the injustice of it all, but she remained outwardly calm as she knocked on the office door. The door swung open immediately.

“Miss McBride,” Mr. Simmons greeted her without a smile, which increased her apprehension.

She nodded. “Mari Bright said ye wanted to see me,” she said as she took his invitation to step inside the office.

The mill foreman shut the door before turning to answer. “Sit down, Miss McBride.”

Meghan sat as instructed and placed her trembling hands on her lap.

“Miss Bride—” he began as he skirted his desk and sat in his chair.

“Ye’ve decided that ye don’t believe me,” she said. “That’s why the man is back at work.”

“There is no one to substantiate your story”

“Ye’ve not questioned anyone!” she burst out.

“Don’t you be raising your voice to me, young woman!” he barked back.

“Ye are calling me a liar, and I’m not to get angry?” She eyed him as if he’d gone mad.

“I’ve a generous proposition to make to you; I suggest you listen and keep quiet!”

“A proposition like Phelps’s?” she dared, and was immediately sorry when she saw how his mouth worked and his face turned a bright shade of red.

“Why you little ungrateful—!”

“George!” boomed another male voice. Neither Meghan nor Simmons had seen the door behind them open.

“Lucas!” he said, looking uncomfortable.

“It doesn’t sound like you’re offering her the job.”

The man scowled. “She hasn’t closed her mouth long enough to allow me to,” he said.

“I’ll take care of it then,” Lucas said.

“Fine, I’ll be happy to leave you alone with her.” He rose and left, looking more than happy to oblige.

Meghan was slightly mollified by the way Lucas’s mouth tightened at Simmons’s behavior and the man’s tone when he’d said “her.”

“Meghan,” Lucas said as he took Simmons’s chair.

“Lucas, I don’t know what kind of position ye have in mind, but I’ll not stay where I’m not believed.” Anger had stiffened her frame until her muscles hurt.

His dark eyes narrowed as he regarded her intently from across the desk.

“What makes you think I don’t believe you?”

“Simmons said—”

“George Simmons is entitled to his own opinion. The matter isn’t over yet; we’re not done with Mathew Phelps.”

“But none of the workers have been questioned.”

Lucas frowned. “But I thought—” He stopped. “Never mind, it will be taken care of,” he promised.

Meghan felt herself relaxing. “Then why am I here?” she asked.

“My aunt has a special request for you.”

“Mrs. Gibbons?” Meghan echoed.

He nodded.

“How can I help her?”

“By entertaining me?” The twinkle in his gaze was mischievous.

She gasped with outrage, got up, and headed toward the door.

“Wait!” He rose quickly to hurry around the desk and grab her arm. “Sorry, bad joke I’m afraid.”

“Very bad,” she said, shaking under his touch.

He released her. “I said I’m sorry. I can see you’re not up to a little teasing.” His mouth had formed a half smile, but his amusement wasn’t in his eyes.

“No.” Her reply was short and strained.

Lucas’s gaze flickered, and then he became all businesslike. “My aunt needs some stitching done, and she thought you’d be just the one to do it.” There was no softness to his features as he held her gaze. “You sew, don’t you?” he snapped.

“Aye,” she said, regarding him with confusion. “But how did you know?”

“My aunt has a gown to be altered,” he said, ignoring her question. “Can you do it for her?”

“But what about me work at the mill?” Had her accusations caused her to lose her employment there? What of the good wages she earned by running three looms?