“I am speaking only for myself and my beliefs, Mr. Harrison, and I do not wish to participate in either purchasing or selling tickets for a lottery. If you insist that I must sell the tickets, I will regretfully give you my notice to quit.”
“Quit? You would quit working here because I’m selling lottery tickets?”
If she quit, how could she make up for the money she’d been earning in his shop? There were a few other shops that might hire her, but if all the stores were participating in the lottery, she’d be faced with the same problem. And yet if she agreed to sell the tickets, it would appear as if she approved of the lottery. She simply couldn’t agree—not after the trouble gambling had heaped upon her family.
“No.” Her voice cracked. “I will quit if I am required to sell the tickets. This is your store and you have every right to sell whatever you’d like. However, you will need to have someone other than me take care of those sales when you’re away from the shop.”
Mr. Harrison traced his index finger along the edge of the sign. “I certainly don’t want you to quit, Mellie. I suppose if someone came into the store and I wasn’t here, you could direct them to another shop. I’m not making any profit from the sale of the tickets, so it wouldn’t matter if the purchase was made elsewhere. Would that be acceptable to you?”
She didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until she blew out a lungful of air. “Yes, that’s acceptable. Thank you for your understanding.”
“Of course. I don’t want you to do anything that goes against your principles.”
Mr. Knoll chuckled and patted his friend’s shoulder. “That’s true, Asa. We both know that there are far too few principled people in the world today, don’t we?”
Mr. Harrison frowned at his friend and gave a slight shake of his head. “If you’ll excuse us, Samuel and I need to finish a few things upstairs.” He glanced over his shoulder. “No need to worry about the lottery tickets. I’m not scheduled to begin selling them until tomorrow.”
During her conversation with Mr. Harrison, Morgan had stood at a distance, listening but not entering into the discussion. He remained leaning against a case where Mr. Harrison stored canvases. Once the two men had disappeared, he said to Mellie, “You’re quite courageous. I know how much the extra income means to you.” He tipped his head. “And you would have quit if he hadn’t given in to your request?”
“Yes. Difficult as it would have been, I couldn’t stay here and have any part of selling those tickets. I feel it would be a betrayal to my sister and to what I believe.” She shrugged. “I don’t expect everyone to agree with me, but I had to do what is right for me. I can tell you that I was frightened he’d tell me not to come back.”
Morgan shook his head. “You’re better for his business than those lottery tickets will ever be. And for what it’s worth, I don’t agree with the lottery, either.”
“I’m glad to know I’m not alone. I fear this lottery is going to create heartache for many of the mill girls who purchase tickets rather than sending the money home to their needy families.”
Morgan nodded. “And for the families living in Manchester, as well. I don’t see how anything good can come of this.”
She reached for a stack of black paper beneath the counter. “Only one person can win, but each person who buys a ticket believes they’ll be the lucky one. I wonder if those in charge of this lottery weighed the consequences against the benefits of their plan.”
Morgan sighed. “I doubt much thought was given to the disadvantages.” He gestured toward the back room. “I need to return the drawings to the mill. I thought I had them completely memorized, but it turns out it’s more difficult than I thought to recall every small detail.”
Mellie glanced up after the bell over the door rang. She stepped from behind the counter and sent Morgan a quick smile. “I must go and serve the customers who just came in. Why don’t you gather your drawings while I help them? Afterward we can walk to the boardinghouse—together.”
As Morgan walked toward the rear of the store, he considered their conversation. Mellie’s willingness to stand her ground no matter the consequences impressed him. Had the situation been reversed, would he have had that same resolve? He hoped so. His father had given in to his mother rather than stand his ground. Morgan didn’t want to think of what that choice might cost his father. He shook off the thought and continued into the back room.
There was at least another hour before closing time. If the customers wanted silhouettes, it might take even longer. He strode to the cabinet, but instead of retrieving the loom drawings, he removed a copy of The Three Musketeers from the shelf. He’d borrowed the book from the Manchester Athenaeum, the private circulating library that many of the mill workers frequented. Morgan had read The Count of Monte Cristo while attending school, but he’d never gotten around to The Three Musketeers. Truth be told, he felt a bit guilty reading the novel. The Mechanics’ Lodge was well supplied with trade publications. He could be reading a copy of the Mechanics’ and Engineers’ Trade Journal, but he sometimes needed a book that would take his mind off his day-to-day life.
After reading the first few pages, he realized he hadn’t absorbed a word of what he’d read. His thoughts hadn’t been on the antics of the three swordsmen, but on the future of his parents and the Stark Mills. He hoped they had received word from his grandfather. He closed the book with a snap, returned it to the shelf, and reached to the back of the cabinet. As he removed the drawings, his eyes fixed upon the two corners he’d fastened with thin cords and tied in a unique knot.
One look at the knotted ties and fear bristled down his back. Mr. Baldwin had been clear with his instructions: The drawings must be protected. Granted, the prototype was close to completion, but few had seen the loom in its near-completed state. Though parts of the machine had been produced by men working in various mechanic shops, sharing why or where the parts would be used hadn’t been necessary. In truth, the men producing the parts cared little. So long as they had a work order signed by a superior, they performed their jobs, not bothering to ask any questions.
Morgan studied the knots. There was no doubt that the documents had been disturbed. He’d arranged the drawings so that anyone wishing to view the entire page would need to untie at least one of the knots. When he’d arranged the pages and tied the knots, he’d thought the idea excessive. Now he realized he’d not done enough to protect Mr. Baldwin’s design.
His chest heaved as he attempted to draw in a deep breath. Who’d been in the back room since the last time he’d looked at the drawings? His gaze shifted to the front of the shop. Mellie and Mr. Harrison were in and out of the room every day and knew the location of the drawings. Mr. Harrison was the one who had given Morgan permission to use the room. He’d also assured him the papers would be safe here. He glanced toward the stairs. Mr. Knoll sometimes came through the back room on his way upstairs to Mr. Harrison’s apartment. Morgan raked his fingers through his hair. Had there been anyone else? Anyone who could have been in the cabinet and looked at the plans?
He rolled the drawings in a tight cylinder and walked to the front of the store. Mellie smiled at him. She was helping a customer select a frame. He waited, his eyes riveted upon her as she moved about helping the customer. Could she have betrayed him? He didn’t want to think so, yet how could he be certain of anyone?
Mellie bid her customer good-bye and came to his side. “What’s wrong, Morgan? You’re white as a sheet. Are you ill?”
“I’m not feeling well, but it isn’t due to illness.”
Her brows crinkled. “I don’t understand. What’s the matter?”
He tapped the cylinder of drawings. “Have you ever looked at these papers, Mellie?”
She shook her head. “Are those the papers you were studying in the back room? The ones you stored in Mr. Harrison’s cabinet?”
He nodded.
“No, I’ve never seen them.” She pointed to the stool. “You look like you should sit down.”<
br />
Panic rose in his chest as he dropped onto the stool. “Besides you, me, Mr. Harrison, and Mr. Knoll, can you think of anyone else who has been in the back room in the past week?”
Her forehead lined with creases as her attention drifted to the back room. “There have been a few children who wandered back there while I was cutting silhouettes, but they weren’t in there long enough to bother anything.” She hesitated a moment. “There was a man who came in to sit for an ambrotype, and you had to leave the back room while he changed into his suit.”
Morgan nodded. “I left the drawings on the table, but I turned them over. I doubt he would have looked at anything on the table, and nothing appeared out of order when I returned to the room.”
“You’re probably right. He came back to the shop three days later to decide on which photograph he would purchase. He was having difficulty deciding and asked if he could sit at the table in the back room and think over his decision. He was here before you arrived to walk me home.” She shook her head. “Other than that, I can’t think of anyone who was back there.”
Morgan massaged his temples. Mr. Knoll was the most likely suspect. He was an engineer and, by his own admission, a man always on the lookout to turn a profit. And when questioned about his business dealings, he was less than forthcoming. In addition, Morgan doubted a man having his photograph taken would have gone rummaging through the cabinet. He needed to consider every possibility, however. While Mr. Knoll was the more likely suspect, Morgan now wondered if the drawings had been moved when he returned that first day. “Do you know who that man is—the one who sat at the table in the back room?”
“No, but I can check the receipt book. His name and address would be listed there.” She crossed to the counter and began flipping through the pages. “Here it is.” She tapped the page.
He walked to her side and looked at the listing: Ezekiel Snow, 23 Merrimack Street, Lowell, MA.
“Lowell.” His voice cracked, and his thoughts scattered like a round of buckshot. Had someone in Lowell learned of the new machine? If the owners of the Lowell Mills secured copies of the drawings, could they begin production of the new loom before the Stark Mills? If the owners at Lowell did manage to build a prototype and assemble a workable loom, it was possible they would be first to manufacture and sell the seamless bags.
His mind reeled at the thought. He needed to gain a hold on his imagination. A man from Lowell was in the back room on two occasions. He was having a photograph taken and choosing a picture for his loved ones.
Nothing more.
That was what Morgan told himself. That was what he wanted to believe.
Chapter
fifteen
AFTER LEAVING THE SHOP THAT NIGHT, MELLIE WALKED alongside Morgan. She gave him a sideways glance. He was with her, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Twice now she’d asked him something, yet he hadn’t responded to either question.
Her hand rested in the crook of his arm, and she gave a slight tug. “And then a cat flew into the room and landed on my loom.”
“Oh.”
“Morgan, are you listening to me?”
He turned with a jerk. “Yes, of course.”
“Excellent.” She grinned. “What did I say a moment ago?”
“I’m sorry. I guess I wasn’t listening.” He shot her a doleful look. “I’m still trying to recall who was in the back room of the photography shop. Maybe someone was back there during the daytime and got into the cabinet. Do you think that might have happened?”
“Anything is possible, but there have been very few occasions when a customer was in the back room, at least while I was there. I assume it’s the same during the daytime hours.” She gave his arm another tug. “I don’t understand all this concern. Even if someone saw those papers, why does it matter?”
“Depending on who sees them, it could matter a great deal.” In the shimmering moonlight, his eyes reflected distress. He stopped and grasped her hand. “I didn’t tell anyone, including you, but those papers are extremely important. If anyone has seen them, it could mean huge financial losses for Stark Mills.”
“Truly?” She giggled. “You’ve been entrusted with papers that could cause a downward spiral for the Stark Mills?” When a pained look spread across his face, she sobered. “I’m sorry, Morgan. I didn’t mean to make light of a matter that is causing you such concern. But you must admit it is difficult to believe that you hold the future of Stark Mills in your hands. Wouldn’t you agree?”
He nodded. “I promised I wouldn’t divulge the details, so . . .”
“And I don’t want you to break your promise. That’s not what I was implying. I want to be understanding and help you, but I didn’t expect you to hold such important company papers. You must realize that it comes as a surprise.”
“Those papers—drawings, actually—pertain to my work with the machines, and I was entrusted with them so that I could memorize the details. I was told to keep them in strict confidence.”
A weight of responsibility settled on Mellie’s shoulders. Why had she suggested he study them in the back room, and why had she gained Mr. Harrison’s approval for this? If she’d remained silent, Morgan would have found some other place to study and store the papers. Why hadn’t he mentioned the papers were of a secretive nature? At least then they would have been more careful about customers going into the back room. “I’m so sorry, Morgan. If I’d have known—”
“It’s not your fault, Mellie.” Morgan squeezed her hand. “It’s mine. I should have found another way that didn’t involve you or the photography shop. I could have studied them at the Mechanics’ Lodge or at the Athenaeum, but I couldn’t have stored them there. I thought about keeping them at the boardinghouse but then decided they wouldn’t be safe there. So, at the time, the photography shop was the best solution. Still, I should have asked Mr. Harrison to keep the cabinet locked at all times.”
Mellie sighed. “I know it’s easier said than done, but worrying won’t change anything.”
“You’re right, although I still need to discover who has seen those drawings.” His shoulders sagged. “If I’m going to succeed, it seems prayer is my only hope.”
She squeezed his arm. “Prayer is our best hope—in all circumstances—don’t you think?”
“True. Once again you’re right, and I’ll try to remember that in the future.” He smiled down at her. “Now, what was it you were saying to me a short time ago—back when I wasn’t listening?”
“You mean besides the cat? Well, Horace Mann is speaking on the common school movement at the Lyceum tomorrow evening. I’ve asked Mr. Harrison if I can be away from the store, and he agreed. I thought we could go together—I mean if you have an interest in hearing Mr. Mann. I’m told he’s a very engaging speaker, and the Manchester Brass Band is going to play before and after the program.”
He pushed his cap to the back of his head. “With you at my side, I’d be pleased to go almost anywhere. You tell me the time and I’ll be at the front door of your boardinghouse waiting for you.”
For a moment she considered telling him they should meet at the photography shop, but then decided that was silly. Now that Olive had revealed a change of heart, there was no reason Morgan shouldn’t call on her at the boardinghouse. “The program begins at eight o’clock, so we should leave by seven-thirty, don’t you think?”
She shouldn’t be taking time away from work, yet she longed for something more than the same old routine she followed most days. Sundays allowed for a slight departure from her daily routine, but once church services were over, the rest of the day was filled with mending, letter writing, and other necessities she couldn’t complete during the week. Up until now, she’d turned Morgan down each time he’d asked to escort her somewhere after church, not because she didn’t want to go with him but because duty called. This one time she would push duty aside and enjoy an evening of entertainment together.
He nodded and smiled. “Seven-thirty it is. I’m
glad you’ve decided it’s important to do something other than work. I was beginning to think I would never have any time with you except at the store and walking you home.”
“And you should spend more time with your friends.”
Together they climbed the front steps of her boardinghouse. “Why would I want to be around those fellas I work and live with every day when I can be with the kindest, most beautiful girl I’ve ever met?”
His words caused a blush to color her cheeks. “Thank you for the compliment, Morgan, but—”
“Don’t tell me you aren’t beautiful and kind, Mellie. Anyone with eyes can see you are lovely, and I’ve never heard anyone say anything but words of praise regarding your kindness toward others.”
She smiled. “Except for Olive French. You may recall that she didn’t have too many good things to say to me or about me.”
“I think Olive’s jealousy overcame her good sense, but thankfully she saw the error of her ways.” His brows dipped low. “She hasn’t reverted to her threatening behavior, has she?”
“No. We’re not close friends—not like with Phebe or Cora and Clara—but we’re cordial to each other. She seems to regret her earlier actions.”
“You see? You’re not only kind and beautiful, but you can even get along with your enemies.”
She chuckled. “It’s because of you, Morgan, that Olive came to me and apologized, and I’m certainly thankful.”
Without warning he leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “It was my pleasure.” Before she could say another word, he dashed down the steps. “I’ll see you tomorrow evening.”
She watched him disappear into the darkness, her heart pounding a new beat.
The following evening at supper, the girls chattered about the Lyceum program, their escorts, and the dresses they planned to wear. For once, Mellie felt a part of the excitement around the table. Yet, for some reason, Olive remained unusually quiet.
When Olive glanced in her direction, Mellie tipped her head. “What about you, Olive? Will you be attending Mr. Mann’s lecture?”
A Perfect Silhouette Page 14
