“I haven’t yet decided.” She clamped her jaw and stared straight ahead.
Mellie couldn’t imagine waiting any longer to decide, but it was obvious Olive didn’t want to discuss the evening’s event. After finishing the last of her lamb stew and biscuit, Mellie pushed away from the table. Phebe, Cora, and Clara followed, and soon the three of them were completing their toilette and slipping into their dresses.
There was a light tap on the door, and Mellie leaned forward and turned the knob. Olive stood in the doorway with a forlorn expression and a dress draped over her arm. “I have a problem with my dress. That’s why I wasn’t sure I could go tonight.”
Mellie stepped aside so that Olive could enter. “What kind of problem? Did a seam rip?”
Olive shook her head. “No.” Her voice quivered. “I spilled punch on it at the last dance, and I thought I could remove the stain. I tried to wash it out with soap and water, then wrung out as much water as I could and left it to dry. Now there’s an even bigger stain than I started with. Do you think there’s any way I can hide the stain?”
Mellie spread the gown across her bed. She looked up at Olive. “No, I don’t think there’s anything to be done in time for you to wear this tonight.”
Cora ran a hand down the wrinkled dress. “Twisting satin isn’t a good idea. That’s why you’ve got all these creases.”
Moving to one of her trunks, Mellie lifted the lid and removed a dress of gold alpaca with forest green accents. “I think this will fit.” She held it in front of Olive. “The color is perfect for you. You’re welcome to wear it tonight, if you’d like.”
Mellie didn’t know who looked the most surprised—Olive, Phebe, Cora, or Clara—but it was Olive who dropped onto the edge of the bed. “You would loan me one of your dresses after what I did to you?” She stared up at Mellie.
“Yes, of course.”
“I asked all the girls downstairs to help me and not one of them would. Not even Charity.”
“They may not have offered their help because there was nothing they could do to remove the stain.” Mellie wanted to give the other girls the benefit of the doubt, for truly there was no way anyone could have done anything to make the dress wearable.
“Yes, but none of them offered to loan me a dress—so why would you?”
“One of the first Bible verses I learned when I was a little girl was John 15:12. Do you know it?”
Olive shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“It says we’re to love one another as Jesus loves us.” Mellie pointed to an embroidered scarf lying atop her other trunk. “After I learned that verse, my teacher had me embroider it. I was young, and the scarf was my first attempt at embroidery. It took me a long time—especially since any flaws had to be ripped out. I don’t recall how many stitches I replaced, but since then that verse has held special meaning for me. I’ve tried to live by what it teaches.”
Olive hung her head. “I’m sorry for being so awful to you, Mellie.”
“You’ve already apologized. No need to do so again.” Mellie smiled and reached for Olive’s hand, pulling her to her feet. “Now go and get into this dress. I’ll help you with your hair. If we hurry, we’ll all be dressed on time.”
When the girls descended the stairs a short time later, Morgan and several other young men were being held captive by Mrs. Richards. Sitting in her wing-back chair, she was quizzing the men like a queen holding court. And the men were perched on the edge of their chairs like birds eager to take flight.
The instant Morgan spotted Mellie in the doorway of the parlor, he jumped to his feet and hurried to her side. He leaned close to her ear. “Mrs. Richards does enjoy the attention, doesn’t she?”
Mellie chuckled. “It does appear that way, but this is the first time I’ve been here when a group of young men came calling, so I’m as surprised as you.”
“Well, I’m glad you arrived and saved me. I would have been next in line to answer a barrage of questions. She is one inquisitive lady.”
Mellie slipped her hand into the crook of Morgan’s arm. His eyes remained riveted on her, and she tingled with excitement. There was something about his look that made her feel as if she’d known him forever—or at least that she’d gazed into those ocean blue eyes of his before. Other couples walked in front and behind them, but he made her feel as though they were the only ones strolling along the crowded street.
They entered the Lyceum amid the crush of ticket holders, with Morgan leading her down the carpeted aisle to their assigned seats. His eyes widened when he stopped at their row. He glanced at Mellie, then back at the seats adjacent to their own. Olive French and her escort looked in their direction.
He leaned close to Mellie’s ear. “Let’s go back to the entry hall. I’ll see if there are any other seats available.”
“No need. These are wonderful seats.” She smiled at Olive, sat down beside her, glanced up at Morgan, and patted the empty seat. “Sit down, Morgan.”
Olive turned her gaze on Morgan. “Are you and James acquainted?” She nodded toward her escort. When Morgan shook his head, she made the introductions, then settled back in her seat.
“What’s going on? Why is Olive being so nice?”
Mellie was thankful he’d kept his voice at a mere whisper. “I’ll explain later.” She gestured toward the stage. “Oh, look! The band is going to begin.”
The band’s performance lasted only fifteen minutes, but the conductor promised they would return after Mr. Mann’s lecture. The preacher from the Methodist church stepped to the podium, cleared his throat, and arranged his notes. He looked out over the crowd for a moment before beginning his introduction.
After a quick glance over his shoulder and a nod to Mr. Mann, who was seated on the stage, the preacher raised his voice for everyone to hear. “Horace Mann is a gentleman who has done much for mankind, and history will not forget him. While serving in the Massachusetts House of Representatives, he led a movement that established the first hospital for the insane in the United States. He served in the Massachusetts Senate, but later he gave up his political career to serve as the first Secretary of the Massachusetts Board of Education. Since his appointment to that position, he has worked tirelessly for the cause of universal, nonsectarian education throughout the country. He is an advocate for the education of all and believes in free public education for children of all social classes. In addition, he is a fierce critic of slavery. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Horace Mann.”
Applause filled the auditorium as the distinguished white-haired man with well-carved features strode to the lectern. For the next forty-five minutes he held them captive with his skillful storytelling interspersed with facts and figures that revealed the need for an educated society, and his efforts to make that education free for all. Nearing the end of his lecture, Mr. Mann rested his arms on the podium and leaned toward the audience. “I tell you this: Young children should not be working in textile mills, where their very lives are in danger. They should be sitting in a classroom, where they can be educated to meet their future with the ability to make wise choices.”
He pointed to the rows of empty seats at the front of the auditorium. “I am told these are the seats reserved for the wealthy patrons of the Lyceum. Please notice only a few are in attendance this evening. Why?” He arched his thick white brows. “Because they do not agree with me. They prefer costly private schools where their children are educated among their own class while poor children work in the mills and coal mines. I tell you, this is wrong. And they dislike my views on slavery, as well. These men of wealth don’t want anything to interfere with the cotton crops raised by slave owners. Cotton that’s needed to keep their mills operating while making them wealthy. However, men of wealth need to step forward and think of others. Offer funding to educate the masses and free the slaves from their lives of hardship.”
Murmurs spread throughout the room, and Mr. Mann pointed a finger at the crowd. “It is easy to agree wi
th what I say until you realize it may impact your own way of life. But believe me, we will all be judged by how we treat our fellow man. Think on that as you take up your banner for or against the cause of education and freedom for all.” He gave a nod, and a shock of his white hair dropped across his forehead. “Thank you and good night.”
The ovation was not as fervent as it likely would have been earlier in his speech—before Mr. Mann made many of them uncomfortable with the idea that it might cost something to agree with his views. When the brass band once again took the stage, the applause increased. Mellie didn’t miss the disappointed look that crossed Mr. Mann’s face as he exited the stage.
While the band was playing, Mellie thought of her own education at an elite private school, which had cost a dear price—the school she’d been attending when her parents traveled abroad and died, the school where she’d remained a lonely child. She agreed that education should be free for all. Education was one thing that could never be taken away. Yet she wondered if Mr. Mann espoused equality for women in the workplace or only in education. Her schooling hadn’t provided her with the ability to remain close to home and make a wage that was comparable to a man’s. She wished she could ask Mr. Mann if he would favor such legislation.
As they left the auditorium later, her thoughts seesawed back and forth in an attempt to sort out all she’d heard. Morgan reached to the crook of his arm and patted her hand. “The café at Putney’s is open. Would you like to stop and have tea and something to eat?”
“A cup of tea sounds wonderful.”
Though a few other couples had stopped at the café, most had continued onward. After purchasing tickets for the Lyceum, few would have enough money for tea and cake afterward. Mellie and Morgan sat at a table in a far corner, away from the other guests.
After placing their order, she leaned toward him. “Tell me, what did you think about Mr. Mann’s speech?”
“I agree with much of what he said. The issues he addressed are all challenging, and I doubt any of them will be easily resolved.”
She nodded. “Unfortunately, that’s true. Arriving at equitable solutions will be difficult, but I think it’s important to do what we can to help.”
The waiter placed tea and a slice of pound cake for each of them on the table. Once he’d retreated, Mellie poured tea into their cups.
“Yes, and I’m glad you suggested we attend the lecture,” Morgan said. “Mr. Mann is an eloquent orator who gave us all food for thought.” He forked a bite of cake. “And speaking of food, this cake is excellent. You should try yours.”
She took a bite of cake and nodded. “You’re right. It’s delicious.” She lifted her cup and sipped some tea. “Cora said the Lyceum has offered a number of enlightening speakers. I hope they’ll continue to do so.”
He pushed aside his cake plate. “And now I’d like you to enlighten me about this new friendship between you and Olive.”
While they were finishing their tea, she recounted the earlier events of the evening with Olive.
“You are far too kind, Mellie. I hope Olive is thankful you not only memorized that Scripture but you live what it teaches.”
She could feel the warmth rise in her cheeks. “I did what I would hope someone else would do for me in a similar circumstance. Your flattery is embarrassing me, so let’s not turn my actions into martyrdom.”
“If you insist, but Olive is privileged to know you. And I’m the most fortunate man in the whole of Manchester—perhaps in all of New Hampshire.” He glanced around the darkened room before he leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on her lips.
Chapter
sixteen
MORGAN ROLLED OVER, GROANED, SAT UP, AND PLACED his feet on the cold wooden floor. Morning had come, and yet he’d slept little. A nagging fear that the drawings had been copied continued to gnaw at him. He’d revealed nothing of his suspicions to anyone other than Mellie. Each time he saw Mr. Harrison and Mr. Knoll, he longed to ask what either of them might know—if either man had removed the drawings himself or seen anyone else do so. Yet such questions would likely prove unfruitful. If one or both of them were responsible, they’d deny any wrongdoing.
There was also the fear of insulting the men, especially Mr. Harrison. Morgan didn’t want his actions to cause problems for Mellie. Besides, if they’d seen anyone looking at the drawings, wouldn’t they have told him about it? If the circumstances were reversed, he wouldn’t withhold such information. Of late he’d begun to wonder if he’d only imagined the drawings had been seen by someone else. Again, that was what he wanted to believe. But he knew better and just didn’t want to accept the truth. Now he must hope that someone else seeing the drawings was mere happenstance, that the person had no interest in looms or machinery and wouldn’t try to profit from what had been seen.
He’d been doing what Mellie had advised, praying and trying his best to trust that the Lord would protect him—and those drawings. Each time he saw Mr. Baldwin, he considered mentioning his fears, but he still hadn’t been brave enough to do so. He wanted to trust that all would go according to plan and God would protect him.
Thus far, it seemed to be working. The prototype had proved a success, and work had begun on the first of three machines. Although they could have begun a limited production of the new bags, Mr. Baldwin insisted they wait until they could manufacture in greater quantity and so secure the lion’s share of the market before any competitors came along. While Morgan could understand the man’s point, he worried Mr. Baldwin’s rationale might be somewhat skewed. But then who could say what the future held? Mr. Baldwin could change his mind at any time. He hadn’t been in the mill yard for the past two weeks, so who knew what he was thinking?
Morgan had inquired about the inventor’s whereabouts, but Mr. Hale was evasive. He’d shrugged and said Mr. Baldwin had business elsewhere and hadn’t given a date for his return. While the response had seemed odd to Morgan, he was relieved that he didn’t have to face Mr. Baldwin right now.
This morning, as he strode into the machine shop, his thoughts were occupied with seeing Mellie later in the day. He was eager to ask if she’d consider a Sunday afternoon outing together. Though he was pleased to spend time with her at the shop, they were seldom alone. Mr. Harrison had recently advertised her silhouettes in the Manchester newspaper and in several other nearby towns, as well. Except for their walks home, he hadn’t much occasion to visit with her.
He walked into the last building on Mechanics’ Row and placed his belongings in one of the wooden cubbyholes along the far wall. Behind him, he heard Mr. Baldwin’s deep voice echo across the room. He turned and lifted a hand in a feeble wave. Mr. Hale gestured for Morgan to join them. With great effort, he took one step and then the other. Each attempt felt as if his shoes were being sucked into a merciless, thick muck.
“Hurry, my boy! We need to have a talk.” Mr. Baldwin waved in a wild circular motion, like a windmill blade gone awry.
Morgan forced a smile as he approached the man. “We’ve missed seeing you around here, Mr. Baldwin. Mr. Hale tells me you’ve been traveling elsewhere on some sort of business.”
“That’s true.” He gestured toward Mr. Hale’s small office. “Let’s go inside.” He looked over his shoulder as they entered. “Close the door behind you, Morgan.” The older man pointed to a chair. “Sit down.”
Morgan tried to calm his breathing as he lowered himself into the chair. A sharp pain cut through his chest, each breath sharper than the last. What was happening to him? The room revolved at a dizzying whirl.
“Something wrong, Morgan?” Mr. Hale’s brows dipped in concern. “Sit still and put your head between your knees. You don’t look well at all.”
Morgan did as he was told. Slowly the pain and light-headedness disappeared. Embarrassed, he lifted his head again. “I apologize. Go ahead with what you wanted to say, Mr. Baldwin. I believe I’m all right now.”
Mr. Baldwin hesitated and glanced at Mr. Hale before turning
back to Morgan. “If you’re certain you don’t need a doctor . . .”
Morgan shook his head. “I’m fine. Truly. Please, go ahead.”
Both men sat, Mr. Baldwin placing his palms on his knees. “As you mentioned, I’ve been doing a little traveling. I wanted to see if I could determine where we might develop our best markets once production of the bags commenced. I had thought it would be wise to go south and discover where the milling and bagging was most prevalent, so we could export bags to the larger markets first.”
Mr. Hale nodded. “That’s certainly sound thinking.”
Morgan settled back in his chair. It appeared his fears were unfounded. This was a meeting about how best to market the bags. He inhaled a cleansing breath and smiled. “I agree. Your plan seems to be well thought out.”
“Mmm, yes.” Mr. Baldwin gave a slight nod. “However, before I embarked south, I decided to make a stop in Lowell to visit an old acquaintance. I thought he might want to join me on my journey.”
At the mention of Lowell, Morgan immediately thought of the man who had recently come from Lowell to Manchester to have his photograph taken. The one who’d been in the back room of the shop on two separate occasions. Morgan quickly searched his mind for the name . . . Ezekiel Snow. Yes, that was it. Morgan’s heart thrummed a rapid beat.
“Was your friend able to accompany you?” Mr. Hale asked.
Mr. Baldwin shook his head. “No, but I was his guest for several days. Being a lawyer, he’s well known in the town. I wanted to visit with him about the patent for my loom.”
Morgan breathed a sigh of relief. He thought Mr. Hale had told him Mr. Baldwin hadn’t obtained a patent on the machine. This was the best news he’d heard in a long time. If the machine was patented, there was no need for concern. “So, you’ve obtained a patent. That’s wise. I’m happy to hear the design is protected.”
“I wish that were true,” Mr. Baldwin said. “Unfortunately, my application has been delayed.”
A Perfect Silhouette Page 15
