A Perfect Silhouette

by Judith Miller

  He’d written his parents and asked they keep his arrival to themselves. His mother wasn’t one who easily maintained secrets, so he could only hope she hadn’t already spread the news among her social circle. For all intents and purposes, he’d been absent from Manchester for years—ever since he’d gone off to boarding school. There had been a few days at Christmas, time spent at their summer home in Virginia, and he’d taken two trips abroad with his parents. Overall, however, he’d had sparse opportunity to develop friendships in Manchester.

  The carriage rolled along the circular driveway and came to a halt in front of the pillared portico. He pushed open the door and stepped down while the driver unloaded his baggage. After tossing several coins to the driver, Morgan strode to the front door. He hesitated for a moment, took a deep breath, picked up a bag in each hand, then stepped inside.

  Fortunately, the servants were nowhere to be seen when Morgan entered the house. If his good luck continued, he would meet privately with his father before his mother discovered his arrival. He concealed his luggage behind an arrangement of giant Chinese urns in the foyer before stealing down the hallway. He slowed his stride when he neared the sitting room. If his mother had come downstairs, she’d be at her desk writing letters or reading a favorite novel, but this morning the pocket doors were closed. He heaved a sigh and continued on to his father’s office.

  Morgan stopped outside the door. His father’s face was obscured by the daily newspaper he held in front of him. When Morgan cleared his throat, his father lowered the paper, then dropped it onto the oversize walnut desk, smiled, and pushed to his feet.

  “Morgan, my boy. What a wonderful surprise.” With his arm extended across the desk, he clasped Morgan’s hand in his own. “I didn’t expect you until next week. Does your mother know you’re here? Sit down, sit down. Let me ring for the maid to bring coffee. Are you hungry? I’m sure we can arrange for some breakfast.”

  Morgan chuckled and sat down. “In answer to your questions, no, Mother doesn’t know I’m here. Yes, I’d enjoy coffee. And no, I don’t want breakfast, thank you.”

  “I’ll have Lucy fetch your mother and bring us coffee.” The older man rang for the maid. “You look good, Morgan.”

  “Thank you, Father, but before you send for Mother, I’d prefer some time for the two of us to speak privately.”

  His father’s brows lowered a notch. “You’re not in some kind of trouble, are you?”

  “No, nothing like that. It’s about my position with the company. I know Mother doesn’t enjoy discussions regarding the business, and I’d like to present a proposal to you.”

  A middle-aged woman entered the room, her eyes fixed on Morgan’s father. “You rang, Mr. Stark?”

  “Please bring coffee, Lucy, and if my wife should come downstairs and inquire as to my whereabouts, please tell her I’m in a business meeting at present.”

  “Yes, sir.” She nodded and turned to leave.

  “And please close the door on your way out, Lucy.” That said, his father turned back to Morgan. “Well, you’ve piqued my interest. What kind of proposal? You’re not going to ask for a raise before you even begin work, are you?” His lips twitched into a smile.

  Morgan scooted forward in his chair. “Of course not. In fact, if you agree to my idea, you won’t be paying me much at all.”

  “Now, Morgan, you know the company managers make a fine wage, and if you take a position overseeing the managers of the three Stark Mills, you’ll be paid very well indeed.”

  “My position is what I want to discuss with you.” Morgan straightened his shoulders. “I don’t want a management position. I’d like to work in the mill and see if I can discover any new techniques or possible improvements that can be made. With my engineering education, I believe I may even develop ideas for new products we could produce in the mills.” His father’s eyes reflected doubt, but Morgan pushed on. “You know I don’t enjoy sitting at a desk, Father. I’m not cut out to spend my days signing checks and going through profit-and-loss sheets. That type of thing would bore me to death, and I’d leave the company before year’s end.” He inhaled a deep breath. “Working around the machinery, helping develop new ideas, discovering how I can make a genuine contribution—that’s what excites me.”

  His father waved him to silence. “Hold up for just a minute. First of all, your plan has flaws you’ve not considered. And second, you wouldn’t last in that kind of position for more than a day or two. Mark my words, Son, our mechanics perform dangerous, dirty work all day, every day. Trust me, it’s not the kind of thing you imagine. You’ve envisioned some sort of fairy tale, yet life in the mills isn’t an enchanted one.” He made a sweeping gesture with his arm. “This is the fairy tale. A beautiful home, servants, money—this is what those men in the mills dream of at night.”

  “I know, but—”

  “Let me finish, Morgan.” His father rested his arms atop the wide desk. “The men would never accept my son working alongside them. Your presence would create chaos and discomfort. No matter what the workers might be told, they’d believe you were there to observe their work habits and eavesdrop on their conversations—a spy who would report to management. Even if I thought you’d be happy in such a position, the idea simply isn’t feasible.”

  Before Morgan could offer an argument, Lucy returned bearing a tray laden with warm biscuits, peach jam, a silver coffeepot, and two china cups. She placed the tray on one end of the desk. “Shall I pour for you, Mr. Stark?”

  “No need, Lucy. Thank you.” The maid disappeared from the room as silently as she’d entered. Once the door had closed, his father poured the dark steaming brew into the cups. “Cream? Sugar? Both?” He looked at Morgan and arched his brows.

  “Black is fine.” He waited until his father balanced one of the cups on a saucer and handed it to him. “Thank you.” He took a sip of the coffee before he continued. “I’ve already thought of the spying possibility, Father. I didn’t plan to go to work as Morgan Stark. I planned to assume the name William Morgan—simply switch my first and middle names. I wouldn’t go into the mills using the family name. None of the men know me. Even your agents and overseers don’t know me. They may know you have a son, but they’ve never set eyes on me. This can work, Father. I believe you’ll soon realize how much more beneficial it will be to have me working with the engineers and mechanics rather than stuck away in a stuffy office.”

  “We have been discussing a new project at Stark Mills.” His father stroked his jaw. “Perhaps you could be of assistance, but we would need to be very careful how this is handled. And there’s still the problem of your identity. Just because my managers haven’t met you doesn’t mean there isn’t someone who might recognize you.”

  “Other than a few social contacts I’ve met during my occasional visits home, I don’t know who it would be. My time in Manchester has been extremely limited, and if we can convince Mother to remain silent about my return to the city, I doubt there will be a problem—especially if I’m wearing work clothes like these rather than a suit and necktie.”

  His father stared at him for a moment, then picked up a biscuit, broke it in half, and carefully slathered a spoonful of jam over the warm flakiness. After indulging in a bite, he wiped the corner of his mouth with a linen napkin and tipped his head to the side. “There may be some merit to your plan, but I still have misgivings. I have been discussing the development of a new piece of machinery with Cyrus Baldwin. Like you, he’s an engineer.”

  Morgan’s pulse quickened. “What kind of machine?”

  “A circular weaving machine that will change the way cloth bags are made. I’ve seen the initial drawings. Rather than the flat pieces of cloth woven on looms, this loom would weave cylinders of cloth. Since the sides would no longer require stitching, they’d be much stronger. Far fewer bags of grain tearing open during handling. I believe demand would prove tremendous, that is, if we are the first ones to bring such a product to market.”

>   Morgan wanted to shout with excitement, but the Starks were expected to maintain their decorum—perhaps not the women, but certainly the men. And he hadn’t forgotten his father’s earlier remark about further misgivings. After hearing about this new machine, he was determined to eliminate any such concerns.

  Best to meet the problem head-on. “You mentioned you still had misgivings. What might they be?”

  His father downed a final gulp of coffee and rattled the cup onto the saucer. “Instead of what might they be, you should have asked who might they be. And the answer is, your mother. We both know she’s not going to agree to it. She’s been looking forward to your return like a mother hen who’s found a lost chick.”

  Morgan swallowed a laugh. While he loved his mother dearly and acknowledged her many fine attributes, she possessed few maternal instincts. There had been a nanny until he was old enough to attend school. And although his father had suggested they hire a governess or tutor, his mother had been eager to send Morgan to boarding school. She argued that he would receive a much better education and be happier where he’d have friends his own age. She might have been correct about the education, but he hadn’t been happier. Being away from home at an early age had proved a difficult adjustment, though eventually he’d adapted. Now, as an adult, he had no great urge to come home to the nest and take refuge under his mother’s wing.

  “I won’t be able to live at home. If you agree to what I’ve suggested, I’d need to apply for a position the same as every other employee. And I’d need to live in one of the men’s boardinghouses—not here. Any attempt to live elsewhere would raise too many questions.”

  His father nodded. “You’re right, but I don’t think you’ll gain your mother’s agreement to any of this.”

  “But I have yours?”

  “I’ll agree to give it a try, but I’m going to insist that we revisit the arrangement on a regular basis. I’m not convinced it’s for the best. Still, we’ll see where it leads. You need to remember that you’ll be a mechanic, not an engineer. You’ll be repairing flywheels, looms, and other equipment. It will be up to you to find some way to become acquainted with Mr. Baldwin and possibly form a friendship that will lead to your helping with the new project. There’s only a slim chance of that happening. He has a small office in the mechanics’ shop, but I don’t think you’ll have much time to talk with him. And after working ten hours a day with the mechanics and laborers and living in a boardinghouse, I wager you’ll change your mind and return home within a month or two.”

  Morgan shrugged. “I’ll do just fine, and I’ll get to know Mr. Baldwin—one way or another.”

  His father rang for Lucy, and moments later she entered the room again. Mr. Stark motioned to the tray. “You can take this, Lucy. The biscuits were excellent, as usual. And would you tell Mrs. Stark I’d like her to join us?”

  The maid bobbed her head and retrieved the tray. “Right away, Mr. Stark.”

  His father swiveled in his chair. “You might as well take these few minutes to prepare yourself, Morgan. I believe you’re going to be in for the battle of your life.”

  A short time later, his mother whooshed into the room like a debutante attending her first ball. Morgan rose to his feet and extended his open arms. “Hello, Mother.”

  Mouth open wide, she stepped into his embrace. “When did you arrive?” She took a backward step and surveyed him from head to foot. “And why wasn’t I told you were here?” She directed a frown at her husband.

  “You can place the blame on me, Mother. There was a matter I wanted to discuss with Father. I needed to gain his approval before including you in the discussion.”

  “Are the two of you plotting against me?” She feigned a look of suspicion.

  Morgan shook his head. “Not at all.” He gestured to one of the chairs. “Why don’t you sit down, and I’ll tell you everything. But first, I have a question for you.”

  She tipped her head to the side. “What’s that?”

  “Did you do as I asked in my letter?”

  “Of course. I know you and your father think I can’t keep a secret, but I’m very good at sealing my lips when it’s important. Yet I’m not sure why you didn’t want anyone to know you were coming home.”

  “Thank you for keeping my confidence, Mother. Now I’m going to tell you why I made the request.”

  Morgan went on to detail the arrangement he and his father had agreed upon. While his mother attempted to interrupt on several occasions, he’d silenced her and asked her to wait with her questions and comments until he’d finished. Once he’d completed his explanation, she pursed her lips and waited a moment.

  She arched her brows. “May I speak now?”

  Morgan nodded. “Yes.”

  “What I have to say won’t take long.” She looked from Morgan to her husband, then back at Morgan. “That is the most preposterous idea I have ever heard, and I will not agree to one word of it. You have finally come home to Manchester, and I have plans to introduce you to several young ladies. Any one of them would make you a wonderful wife. Until then, I have readied rooms upstairs for you, and you’ll live with us until you decide to wed. You will take over management of the Stark Mills so that your father can rest and relax in his old age.”

  “Old age? I’m not ready for the grave, Ruth.” The older man directed a wounded look at his wife. “You’re in charge of this house, but I decide who works at the mills and what positions they hold.”

  His mother paled. “While that may be true, you’ve said all along that Morgan was going to fill a management position when he returned home. Now I’m hearing all this nonsense about him working as a laborer and living in a boardinghouse. How do you expect me to react? Did you truly believe I would smile and send you off with my blessing?”

  “I didn’t expect a smile, but I thought that once you realized this is what I want to do, you’d at least consider the idea.” He reached for his mother’s hand. “This isn’t going to be a permanent thing. Father and I agreed we would reevaluate how it’s going after a time.”

  She shook her head. “Nothing you’ve said convinces me your idea makes any sense.”

  “That’s because you’re not involved with the operation of the business, Mother. I gave this a lot of thought before deciding to return home. To be honest, if Father hadn’t agreed, I was prepared to accept an engineering offer in Philadelphia.”

  “Phil-a-del-phia!” She clasped a hand to her chest. “Morgan, I would not be able to bear it if you didn’t come home and prepare to take over the business. Your father needs you here.”

  “Then I’m hopeful you will withdraw your objections and give me your blessing.”

  He spoke with more boldness than he felt, but when his mother sank back in the chair, he knew he’d won her agreement.

  C

  hapter

  three

  LETTER IN HAND, MELLIE APPROACHED THE WATCHMAN with fresh confidence. “I’m here to apply for a position. Mr. Brownell spoke with me in Concord. I have a letter from him. He said I’m to speak with a Mr. Walters.”

  The watchman unfolded the letter, gave it a quick read, and unlatched the gate. Once inside, he pointed her to a door on the first floor of one of the buildings. “See that door down there? The one on the left?” He arched his brows.

  Mellie bobbed her head. “Yes. Is that where I go to meet with Mr. Walters?”

  He shrugged. “Don’t know if he’ll meet with ya, but that’s his office. Ain’t seen him today. ’Course, that don’t mean he didn’t come in before I got here. His clerk’s there. He should be able to help ya.”

  Mellie thanked him and made her way across the muddy ruts caused by the summer rains. Before knocking, she inhaled a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. She needed to appear poised. A frowning reflection stared back at her in the window, and she forced a smile. There. That was better. She knocked and waited only a moment before a male voice called for her to enter.

  Pen in hand
, a gray-headed man was leaning over a ledger, scratching numbers on the page. She stood silently until he finally looked up. “What can I do for you?”

  She withdrew the note from Mr. Brownell, along with her letter of recommendation from the Concord Bank president. “I’m a new recruit sent by Mr. Brownell. I also have a letter of recommendation.” She proffered the items, but he shook his head.

  “You can give them to Mr. Walters. I’ll see if he has time for you.” He glanced over his shoulder as he strode toward a connecting office door. “You can sit over there and wait.” The clerk nodded at a lone wooden chair sitting against the wall.

  Mellie mumbled her thanks and followed his bidding. The chair was straight—and hard—likely on purpose. The clerk didn’t appear to be the type who wanted anyone lingering in his space. She glanced about the sparsely appointed room. Three sash windows intersected the outer brick wall and permitted the clerk a clear view of the muddy incline she’d just traversed. No doubt he’d seen her coming even before she knocked. No pictures or printed notices broke the monotony of the white plaster walls dividing the offices. But even in this tightly enclosed space, the whirring din of machinery invaded the silence.

  She startled when the door opened and the clerk reappeared. “You may go in. Mr. Walters has agreed to see you.”

  “Thank you.” She didn’t expect a reply, and none was given. Before she reached the door to Mr. Walters’s office, the clerk had returned to his ledger.

  Though he hadn’t advised her to knock, she tapped on the door before entering—just in case it was expected. Mr. Walters looked up when she entered and appraised her with dark, piercing eyes. His rotund belly forced him to sit at a distance from his massive walnut desk. While she surmised him to be in his early forties, his thinning brown hair and the wrinkles around his eyes made him appear several years older than that.