A Perfect Silhouette

by Judith Miller

  Some of the girls who’d settled in a pew only a few rows forward glanced in their direction. They quickly turned around, and several of their bonneted heads bent together as they tittered. Mellie didn’t know any of them by name, but she recognized more than one who worked in the spinning room. Word would soon spread that she’d attended church with a beau.

  She offered a faint smile. “I don’t visit during church services.”

  “Then perhaps you’d join me afterward?”

  Her stomach fluttered as though butterflies had taken up residence there and were now attempting an escape. She wanted to welcome Morgan, yet she remained silent. Olive hoped to call Morgan her beau, and Mellie didn’t want any more difficulty with her.

  Although Morgan continued to escort her home each evening, Mellie still insisted he leave her at the corner before her boardinghouse. His presence continued to pique her curiosity, and she wanted to learn more about the gallant young man who insisted upon protecting her.

  Thus far, the exchanges about their pasts had been limited, and she’d always been careful not to divulge too much. Interestingly, she thought he was even more cautious about his earlier life. Yet who was she to question how much or how little he wanted to reveal? She was thankful he didn’t press for more, and she offered him the same consideration. It was enough to know he worked on Mechanics’ Row, lived in one of the boardinghouses, and had attended college to study engineering but hadn’t immediately found work as an engineer and had accepted the lesser position. Knowing he could understand how quickly life could take an unexpected turn had given her comfort and created an unforeseen bond. Those facts aside, she hadn’t agreed to have him call on her—or have him sit with her in church. She didn’t want anyone to assume he was her beau.

  After the final hymn had been sung and the pastor had recited the benediction, Morgan turned to her. “It’s a fine afternoon for a walk. Care to join me?”

  She didn’t meet his eyes. “Thank you for your offer, but I have clothes that need mending and letters to write. I have little time to complete such tasks during the week.”

  “May I at least walk you home, then?”

  Not wanting Morgan to think she didn’t care for him, she gave him a lighthearted smile while she shook her head. “That wouldn’t be wise. Besides, you already walk me home six days a week. Sunday should be your day of rest.”

  “Is there some reason why you don’t want to be seen with me, Mellie? The company has no rules that would prohibit us from spending time together.”

  How could she explain to him that if Olive saw them together, she would do everything in her power to ruin Mellie’s future in Manchester? Based upon the stories Olive had been telling the other girls, Morgan was one step away from offering a proposal of marriage.

  Mellie dug her nails into her palm. “I have little free time, Morgan. If you want a young lady to escort, I suggest you contact Olive French. She continues to seek your attention.”

  He frowned. “Olive French doesn’t interest me in the least. She’s a mean-spirited young woman who has little kindness for others and a rather large nose.” He grinned when he mentioned Olive’s nose.

  “Then I suggest you ask one of the other girls who are frequently at Granite Hall for dance lessons. You might find one of them to your liking.”

  He sighed. “It’s you who I find to my liking, Mellie, but I’ll remain content with walking you home after you finish work each evening—at least for now.”

  He tipped his hat and turned toward the falls. She longed to call after him and tell him she’d changed her mind, but she tightened her lips in a thin line. That would never do. She dared not let Olive see them together.

  Only two days had passed when Mellie felt a tug on her cape while walking home for the noonday meal. “I hear you’re out to steal my beau. I had two girls tell me they saw you sidling up to him. And in church, no less.” She leaned close to Mellie’s ear. “You’re what’s known as a slow learner, aren’t you?”

  Mellie wanted to escape Olive’s grasp, but workers swarmed around them, blocking any possible path through the crowd. Olive’s fingers pinched into the flesh of Mellie’s lower arm. “We can talk at the boardinghouse. I’ll meet you in my room after supper. Before I leave for work.”

  Olive tightened her hold, and a sharp pain raced up Mellie’s arm. “There’s nothing to talk about. You quit seeing him or I’m going to have a talk with my friend.”

  “We had an agreement. I’ve already loaned you my shawl and a dress.”

  “Well, now we have a new agreement. Stay away from Morgan or you’ll see your name in print, and you won’t like the story—and neither will the overseer at the mill.”

  Mellie’s chest tightened. She could not lose this job over anything or anyone—including Morgan.

  Chapter

  twelve

  DESPITE HIS REPEATED ATTEMPTS, MORGAN COULDN’T discover why Mellie had recently become distant and standoffish. She’d consistently refused any invitation he extended. When he attempted to sit beside her at church, she’d either flanked herself with Cora and Clara or moved to another pew. She couldn’t stop him from following her home from work at night, but he’d once again been relegated to following behind her rather than walking at her side.

  Her actions baffled him. She professed he’d done nothing to offend her, yet she wouldn’t say why things had changed between them. Tonight, he was going to persist until he got an answer—one that made sense. He’d become weary of studying diagrams in one of the back rooms in the photography shop until closing time. Granted, it had given him ample time to learn the details of the circular loom, but now that work on the prototype had begun, his need to study would soon be completed. He longed to visit with Mellie during her free time between customers, although each of his attempts had failed.

  Determined to break through Mellie’s tough-as-nails exterior, Morgan walked into the store with his memorized speech on the tip of his tongue. He didn’t see her, so he stepped to the rear of the shop, where he spotted her talking and laughing with a gentleman, a customer perhaps.

  The stranger glanced in Morgan’s direction, and Mellie turned. She took a sideways step and motioned Morgan forward. “I’d like you to meet Samuel Knoll. He’s a dear friend of Mr. Harrison and has come for a visit. He tells me he’s an engineer, so the two of you have much in common. I told him you’d been using the back room to study some business drawings over the past two weeks.”

  Morgan winced at the remark. “Did you?” His voice cracked, but he did his best to appear calm. Instead of carrying the drawings home each evening and possibly having them discovered by one of his fellow boarders, Morgan had stored them in an old cabinet in the back room. Had Mellie shown this Mr. Knoll the drawings? Fear shrouded him. His breathing turned shallow, and his ears filled with the sound of rushing water. He grasped the back of a nearby chair. “I’m sorry. I’m suddenly not feeling well.”

  Mellie’s bright smile—the loveliest smile she’d given him in a long time—faded and was replaced by concern. “Sit down, Morgan. Let me fetch you a glass of water.”

  “No, I’ll be fine.” Using his palm, he swiped the beads of perspiration from his forehead. “I don’t know what came over me.” He forced a smile. “I think that must be how ladies feel before they swoon.”

  The bell jangled, and Mellie glanced toward the front of the store. “I need to go help the customers, but please sit still until I return.” Her eyes shone with compassion. “Mr. Knoll will stay with you.” She looked at the visitor and smiled. “You will stay here, won’t you? I don’t think he should be alone.”

  “Of course. My pleasure.” Mr. Knoll settled in a chair next to Morgan. “Would you prefer quiet or would you like to converse?”

  Morgan’s mind reeled. “You talk, and I’ll listen. Tell me about yourself and your work, Mr. Knoll.”

  “Samuel. To my friends, I am Samuel, and I hope that you will soon consider me a friend.” He hesitated a mom
ent, his dark, narrow eyes capturing Morgan’s attention. “As the lovely Miss Blanchard told you, I am an engineer by education, but it isn’t what I enjoy.” He gestured toward the paintings that adorned the studio walls. “Painting, that is what I love.”

  Relief washed over Morgan like a spring freshet. “So, you’re an artist?” He looked toward the walls. “Are any of these yours?”

  “No, no.” Samuel shook his head. “I wish I could tell you even one of them was mine, but I am a connoisseur of art, not an artist. I have several wealthy clients, who have come to trust my judgment regarding artwork. When I find exceptional pieces, I purchase them. Fortunately, my clients all have differing taste, so I seldom have a problem selling a painting to one of them.” He raised a shoulder. “I suppose you could call me a capitalist of sorts. I sell the pieces at a profit—sometimes large, sometimes small. However, I take great pleasure in searching for excellent artwork, so I don’t concern myself with the profitability. If need be, I can always find other ways to increase my income.” He gave a wry smile.

  “I see.” Morgan wanted to ask what he did to supplement his income, but such an inquiry would be rude. The fact that this man was an engineer continued to trouble him. “And what of your engineering abilities? Do you put them to use during your travels or only when you’re at home?”

  “I use my skills wherever and whenever there is a need or an opportunity. I hope I didn’t offend you when I said that art is my real love. Engineering is an honorable profession, but I believe that no matter what a man chooses, he should find fulfillment in his work. For me, that is art. There have been times, however, when my engineering talents have profited me.”

  The response didn’t eliminate Morgan’s concerns. It sounded as though Mr. Knoll might avail himself of any opportunity. “Was it your engineering abilities or your love of art that brought you to Manchester? Or was it merely your desire to travel?”

  Samuel pursed his lips and tipped his head. “I do enjoy travel, though I usually have good reason for leaving home—whether for work or visiting friends or both.” He glanced toward the stairs leading to the upstairs apartment. “I haven’t visited with Asa for several years, but he wrote and said he might have some items that would interest me.”

  “And does he?” Morgan asked.

  “Yes. Asa never disappoints, only this time I believe one item he mentioned will provide a windfall for us both.”

  “Is it a painting or a sculpture?”

  He shook his head. “I can’t reveal much right now, but I suppose you could say it’s a combination of art and sculpture.”

  “I see. Well, it sounds intriguing, yet I won’t question you further. When it comes to business, I know it’s important sometimes to keep secrets.”

  “True, but usually not a good idea when it comes to affairs of the heart.” He grinned. “Are you and Miss Blanchard enjoying an affair of the heart?”

  “I had thought we were headed in that direction, but right now I’m not so sure.”

  The older man clapped him on the shoulder. “Then I suggest you have a talk with her. Someone so lovely should not be permitted to slip through your fingers so easily.”

  Morgan looked up at him. “I’ve tried.”

  “Well, then you must try harder, my friend.” Samuel nodded to the stairs leading from the back room to the upstairs apartment. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go upstairs and change. Asa and I are going out for a late supper.”

  Mr. Knoll had managed to avoid detailing what had brought him to Manchester, although his answer had alleviated some of Morgan’s concern—but not all. He waited until the upstairs door closed before getting up from his chair. Moving as quietly as possible, he crossed to the cabinet and turned the skeleton key that remained positioned in the lock. When the store was open for business, it was easier to retrieve necessary supplies if the cabinet remained unlocked. Besides, Mr. Harrison had assured Morgan no one would bother his papers. Still, Morgan wanted to make certain the drawings remained intact.

  When the cabinet door creaked, he shuddered and peeked around the corner, but Mellie was busy cutting a silhouette for a customer and no one else was in the shop. He heaved a sigh and studied the contents of the cabinet. Nothing on the second shelf appeared out of place. He knelt and retrieved the drawings. He’d arranged and tied them in a precise manner so he’d know if they’d been disturbed. He placed them on the desk and smiled. They were exactly as he’d left them. He briefly considered taking them home but decided they were safer in the cabinet than under his bed. One thing was certain: He wouldn’t be studying the drawings until after Mr. Harrison and his friend departed for supper.

  After replacing the drawings, Morgan stood at a distance and watched while Mellie finished her cutting. When the customer left, Morgan walked to the front of the store and sat on the stool opposite her—the one used for customers. “Could we talk, Mellie?”

  “Not out here where passersby can see us.”

  He frowned. “What difference does it make? They’d likely think you’re cutting my silhouette. I can turn and pretend if you think that makes my presence more suitable.”

  She shook her head. “No, that won’t help. It doesn’t matter if you’re posing or not. I can’t be seen with you.”

  His mouth dropped open. He couldn’t make sense of her sudden aversion to him. “Why? I understand you don’t want Mrs. Richards to see us together, but there’s something more to all of this, and I want to know what it is.” He folded his arms across his chest, stared at her, and waited. If a customer should come into the store, he’d simply move off the stool, let her work, and return later.

  Her shoulders sagged, and she avoided his eyes. Finally, she whispered, “I can’t tell you.”

  “You can tell me anything, Mellie. I won’t betray your confidence.”

  “Even if I told you, there’s nothing you can do about it, so it’s better if you just honor my wishes and stay away from me.”

  How could she make such an assumption? Did she believe him so powerless? “You don’t know whether I can do anything to help or not. Besides, I don’t believe that you truly want me to stay away from you. At least I don’t want to believe it.”

  Distress reflected in her eyes as she turned away from the front window and met his gaze. She drew a deep breath. “You already know that Olive French is sweet on you. She’s told the girls at the boardinghouse and others she works with at the mill that you’re her beau.”

  “But I’m not her beau. You—”

  Mellie held up her hand. “Please. Now that I’ve started, let me finish before I lose my courage.” He nodded for her to continue. “Shortly after I moved into the boardinghouse, Olive found my journal and read it. There were private matters written in it about my family. If she sees me with you, she’s threatened to go to a friend who works at the newspaper and reveal what she read—information that would be embarrassing and hurtful to my sister and her children and could also raise questions about my character. If that occurred, I could lose my job.” She heaved a sigh, then looked him in the eyes. “Now you know why I can’t be seen with you, so please move away from the window. Olive and her friends walk past the shop every evening.”

  “Thank you for telling me. I don’t want you to suffer on my account, but please understand that I have no interest in Olive French.”

  “I believe you. And I hope you understand that if it weren’t for Olive, I’d be pleased to have you call on me.”

  He grinned. “That’s good to know. One day I may hold you to that, Mellie, but for now I’ll continue to work in the back room and escort you home at a distance.”

  She pressed a shaking hand to her heart, and he regretted he’d been so persistent with her. The fear she’d expressed was painfully real. If he had offered to take care of her dilemma with Olive, it would only have deepened Mellie’s fear. And that was the last thing he wanted to do. He hoped instead to convince Olive she should change her ways.

  Chapter
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  thirteen

  ON THE FOLLOWING SUNDAY AFTERNOON, MORGAN made a visit home. He’d rented a horse at the livery and been careful when he rode out of town. Rather than riding directly to his parents’ home, he’d taken a circuitous route. While he doubted anyone had followed him, he didn’t want to take any chances. Instead of approaching the front of the house, he circled around to the stables, left the horse with the groom in charge, and walked to the house.

  He greeted Lucy with a broad smile. “Good afternoon, Lucy. Do my parents have guests this afternoon?”

  “It’s good to see you, young man.” She continued preparing a tea tray and gave a shake of her head. “No visitors today. Your mother will be pleased to see you. She’s been fussing over the fact that you’ve not been ’round for a visit lately. Are ya hungry? I can put some more sandwiches on the tray.”

  Morgan gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I had my fill at the boardinghouse before I left town, but I wouldn’t refuse a few of your delicious tea cakes.”

  The color in her cheeks heightened at his praise. “I’ll put some extras on the plate and wrap a few in a napkin that you can take with you when you leave.”

  “That’s kind of you, Lucy.” He nodded toward the doorway. “Is my father in his study?”

  “I believe they’re both in the parlor. Your mother asked your father to join her for tea. She didn’t go to church this mornin’, and I think she’s curious to know if she was missed.” Lucy chuckled and returned to her preparations.

  Morgan strode down the hall and stopped in the parlor doorway. “I heard tea was about to be served, so I thought I’d stop by and join you.”

  His mother jerked around at the sound of his voice. “Morgan! I was just telling your father that he should send word that I wanted you to come for a visit.”

  “Well, I’m glad I could save him the trouble.” He took a seat in one of the side chairs near his father. “How have you been, Mother? Lucy tells me you didn’t attend church this morning.” He arched his brows. “Not feeling well?”