A Perfect Silhouette

by Judith Miller

  “I admire the three of you and what you’re doing for Phebe,” Morgan said. “I’m sure she’s going to need continued support as the days and weeks go by. I’m told grief can be as crushing as a debilitating illness. Do you think it would help if she took time away from work and went home for a visit?”

  Mellie shook her head. “That’s the worst of it. She says she doesn’t know if she can ever go home again. I think she’ll change her mind after some time passes, but she’s refused to go right now.”

  “But wouldn’t it comfort her to be near her parents?”

  Mellie’s shoulders slumped forward as she detailed the facts surrounding Phebe’s misguided decision to purchase lottery tickets rather than send the money home. She sighed and shook her head. “I wonder how many victims this lottery will claim before it’s finally over. And there’s nothing we can do.”

  Morgan let his gaze momentarily settle on the fire’s burning embers. “There’s nothing we can do about the lottery, but perhaps Timmy’s death won’t be in vain if we gather a large group and appear at the next town meeting to protest against the operation of any further lotteries in Manchester. What do you think?”

  “Oh, Morgan, that’s a grand idea. Perhaps there will be a few adversely affected folks willing to speak out against any future lotteries. The wealthy men who run the city need to hear that such gambling entices folks to spend their hard-earned wages on purchasing tickets rather than providing for the needs of their families. If we furnish them with facts, they’ll surely agree that any lottery is a sham and a lie.”

  Morgan flinched at her final word. Lie. What would she think when she discovered he had been dishonest with her? When she learned he wasn’t a mechanic but an engineer and the son of William and Ruth Stark? When she discovered he’d been living a lie? After she learned the truth, how could she ever believe that his feelings for her had been genuine?

  Chapter

  nineteen

  MELLIE COULD FEEL THE COLD, WET SNOW SEEPING through her boots as she walked toward the mill. The girls paraded down the hill and across the bridge in soldierlike formation, their faces covered with woolen scarves and their heads bowed against the frigid wind. At first, the arrival of the snows was greeted with enthusiasm, but already the beauty and novelty had been replaced by a longing for spring. Yet the seasons wouldn’t change again for many months. This was New England, where winters were harsh and long, even for the heartiest of souls.

  The only place where they were too warm was inside the weaving room. Heat and humidity were maintained year-round to keep the threads from breaking. It mattered little if the girls were damp with perspiration when they walked home in freezing temperatures or if they fainted in the summer heat. Little wonder many of them suffered with chest coughs, colds, and pneumonia. So far, Mellie and the twins had remained healthy. Phebe, who had returned to her looms after only two days off, hadn’t succumbed, either. Mr. Fuqua had granted the girl permission to remain at home for a full week, but after the end of the second day, she’d decided it was easier to keep her mind off Timmy when at work. Besides, with the onset of the frigid weather, she’d been unable to keep warm throughout the day.

  Even with the attic door open and the quilts piled high, there was little warmth to be found in their room. The first one out of bed each morning had to chip an icy layer from the pitcher of water before washing and dressing in the chilly room. Each of them took her turn, wrapping in a heavy quilt to keep warm while preparing for another day at the mills. Although the downstairs rooms were a bit warmer, the only room without frost layering the inside of the windows was the kitchen. While biscuits baked, the frost on those windows melted and trickled down the glass like tears on the cheeks of the heartbroken. Truth be told, Mellie doubted whether the boardinghouse keeper cared much about the other rooms, since most of her waking hours were occupied in the kitchen.

  One thing was certain: It would be much more difficult to leave the boardinghouse each morning if Mrs. Richards ensured all the rooms were warm and cozy. While the keeper avowed she was simply doing her best to maintain her allotted budget, the girls thought she pocketed any extra money when the household expenses decreased. Mellie had no idea if that was correct, yet she’d heard girls from the other boardinghouses claim the same thing about their keepers. Though she hoped the keepers wouldn’t do anything so unconscionable, she knew that money could influence even the most respectable. After all, her own brother-in-law’s desire for more money had caused his death and the devastation of his family.

  Mellie climbed the winding stairs and stepped inside the weaving room. She leaned forward and coughed, her lungs immediately rebelling against the thick, humid air. In a few moments, her body would adjust to the sudden change in temperature, but until then, each breath was difficult. She did her best to ignore the unpleasant sensation as she hurried to hang up her coat and get to her looms before the bell rang.

  She glanced around, looking for the twins. She’d thought Clara and Cora had followed her up the stairs, but neither was at their looms. The clock was ticking off the seconds. If they were late, they’d be in trouble. Her breath caught when the door opened and her two friends raced into the room, tossed off their coats, and skidded to a stop in front of their machines just as the bell rang.

  “Where were you?” Mellie mouthed the words, not expecting a response. With the noise from the looms, she wouldn’t be able to hear Cora’s reply.

  When the bell finally rang and they were free to return home for breakfast, Mellie hurried to join Cora and Clara. “Where did you go? You scared me. One minute you were behind me, and the next minute both of you were gone.”

  Cora grabbed her coat from a hook and shoved her arms into the sleeves. “Clara and I were talking to Billy and Jimmy Bobeck. Do you know them? They’re brothers who work in the carding rooms.”

  Mellie shook her head. “No, I don’t think I’ve met them. Why did you stop to visit with them?”

  “They invited Clara and me to the ball. Can you believe it? I didn’t think either of us would get an invitation.” A wide grin spread across Cora’s face.

  Clara had already donned her cloak, and the twins waited until Mellie had fastened the clasps on her coat. The three of them descended the stairs, careful to stay close to the brick wall, where the wedge-shaped steps were wider. Even stepping on the widest portion could be dangerous. Melted snow and ice left the stairways wet and slick. Just yesterday one of the girls had slipped down several steps before she was able to grab the rail and break her fall.

  Mellie looked over her shoulder. “The ball isn’t far off. The two of you will need to decide what you want to wear. If you’d like to wear any of my dresses, you can have your choice.”

  Clara frowned. “Aren’t you going to attend with Morgan?”

  “I don’t think so.” Mellie’s stomach tightened at the thought of her recent conversation with Morgan and how she’d disappointed him. “I told him that since they were having the lottery drawing during the dance, I didn’t want to attend. He says I shouldn’t let that influence my decision, but I’ve been so opposed to the lottery, and after what happened to Phebe, it seems wrong to be at an event where they’re going to celebrate the cause of such tragedy.”

  “I suppose that’s true. Still, you shouldn’t base your decision upon what happened to Phebe.”

  “And why is that?”

  Clara leaned around her sister. “Because Phebe told me she’s going to attend. She was invited yesterday and said she accepted. When I appeared surprised, she said staying at home wouldn’t change what had happened in the past. Since Phebe has decided to go, I think you should reconsider.”

  “I do, as well. Have you considered that your decision may cause Phebe to feel guilty because she’s decided to attend?” Cora pinned Mellie with a warning look. “Phebe’s been doing much better these last few days. I know none of us want her to relapse and once again blame herself.”

  Mellie sucked in her breath. “
That’s the very last thing I want.”

  Throughout a breakfast of sausage, gravy, scrambled eggs, biscuits, and cinnamon-spiced apples, Mellie remained oblivious to the chatter swirling around her. Instead, her thoughts centered upon her quick decision to avoid the lottery drawing. The ball was an annual event that had begun several years ago. None of the girls seemed to know the exact year or why, but Mrs. Richards said it mimicked the seasonal “lighting up” and “blow out” balls that had begun in Lowell each September and March. However, the girls argued against the keeper’s assessment. The balls in Lowell were a mingling of employers and company officers with the factory workers. Most of the girls thought the ball had begun in order to promote Mr. Vance’s dance lessons. Mellie tended to agree with the girls. The businessmen in Manchester were always eager to find new ways to increase their profits. The lottery was evidence of that fact.

  After breakfast, Cora looped arms with Mellie as they traversed the snow-shoveled path through the mill yard. “Are you going to give further thought to attending the dance?” She tightened her hold on Mellie’s arm. “I truly want you to be there. We’ll have such fun. Please tell Morgan you’ll attend.”

  They stepped into the entrance of Stark Number Two and crossed to the stairway. She’d love to be at the ball beside Morgan, but perhaps it was too late. “I’ll see what he says,” Mellie said. “Maybe he’s already asked someone else.”

  Cora untied her bonnet as they ran up the steps. “You know that’s not possible. He’s in love with you. Every time he looks at you, I can see it in his eyes.”

  Mellie stared after her friend as she hurried up the steps, stunned by her revelation. She thought Morgan was fond of her, but love? He’d never used that word, and neither had she. In truth, she wasn’t sure they knew each other well enough to profess love, though her feelings for him ran deep. During her time in Manchester, she’d come to depend on him. He was a God-fearing, reliable, strong, truthful, hardworking man, and she doubted she could find anyone more thoughtful and caring than Morgan. Even so, she was glad he hadn’t yet declared his love—they needed more time.

  She pressed her hand to her fluttering heart. Who was she fooling? With or without declarations, Morgan had already woven his way into her heart.

  Morgan crossed the canal bridge, eager to begin the day. He was to meet with Mr. Baldwin and Mr. Hale this morning to select a group of mechanics who would assemble the circular looms. In order to maintain secrecy, production of the loom’s numerous components had been forged in a variety of shops throughout Mechanics’ Row.

  On his way across the mill yard, he hadn’t noticed the numbing cold, although he welcomed the warmth the moment he stepped inside the brick building. However, one look at Mr. Hale’s pale complexion and Mr. Baldwin’s dour appearance and Morgan’s chest tightened until he could barely breathe. Something was amiss.

  He forced a tentative smile. “Good morning, gentlemen.” He reached inside his pocket and withdrew a paper. “I’ve made a list of the possible employees I thought the two of you might consider. They are excellent mechanics, and more important, I believe they can be trusted to conceal all information regarding the new looms until we begin production.”

  Neither of the men extended a hand to take the list. Instead, Mr. Baldwin gestured to a nearby chair. “We need to have a talk, Morgan.”

  “Yes, of course.” He gripped the arms of the chair with clammy palms. “Is there a problem of some sort?” The room was alive with an electrifying tension, and while he feared learning the cause, he needed to know.

  Mr. Baldwin sat down beside him. “You may recall that some time ago I went to visit with my attorney in Lowell regarding my patent on the circular loom.”

  Morgan nodded. “Yes, he said it could take a good while.”

  “Exactly. Well, I received word from him today that my design was being examined for a patent, and something quite strange happened during the process.”

  “What’s that?” Morgan asked nervously.

  “It seems that while the patent authorities were in the process of examining my design, another submission was received for a circular loom. One of the clerks brought it to their attention, and they asked to see the submission. And do you know what they discovered?”

  “I have no idea.” Morgan’s voice cracked.

  “The design was submitted under the name of Franklin Montee. Do you know a Franklin Montee?”

  Morgan’s mind reeled. He’d expected to hear Mr. Baldwin say the documents had been submitted by Mr. Knoll or perhaps Mr. Snow, but he had no idea who Franklin Montee might be. “No, I don’t. I’ve never met anyone by the name of Montee.”

  “Here’s the thing, Morgan. The attorneys working in the patent office wrote to my personal attorney and said it appeared the submission made by Mr. Montee was an exact duplicate of my plans. It doesn’t seem possible someone could submit the exact same plans unless they had copied the original. Yet how could that occur? We’ve gone to great lengths to protect the design. There isn’t a man working in the various shops who knows of the design.” He pointed his finger at Mr. Hale, then moved it to point to Morgan, and ended by pointing at himself. “Other than my attorney, the three of us were the only ones who had access to the design.” He leaned forward, his face only inches from Morgan’s. “Am I right?”

  “I believe so, Mr. Baldwin.”

  “Then tell me this, Morgan. How did someone get an exact copy of my design? I gave you the drawings to study, and you took them home. Am I right?”

  “Mostly.”

  “What does that mean?” Mr. Baldwin’s eyes flashed with anger.

  “I didn’t take them to the boardinghouse. I don’t have my own room, and I was afraid someone would see the drawings. Besides, there would be no time alone in my room when I could study them.” He went on to detail how he’d studied and stored the documents in Mr. Harrison’s shop.

  Mr. Baldwin pushed to his feet and paced the room. “Who could have seen the drawings?”

  Morgan sighed. “Mr. Harrison or his houseguest, Mr. Knoll, may have had access to them. The cabinet wasn’t locked at all times. I do know that someone saw the renderings. I could see they’d been disturbed, but I remained hopeful it wasn’t by anyone who wanted to steal the design—simply someone who’d happened upon them and then returned them to the cabinet.”

  Mr. Hale folded his arms across his chest and frowned. “When you first suspected the documents had been compromised, you should have told one of us, don’t you think?”

  Morgan shifted in his chair. “I had hoped to discover who had seen them and whether there was any real concern. Although it could have been Mr. Knoll or Mr. Harrison, there was also a gentleman from Lowell, Ezekiel Snow. He came into the shop for a photograph. He was also in the back room and could have seen the documents in the cabinet.”

  “I met Ezekiel Snow at a gathering hosted by Abbott Lawrence some time ago.” Mr. Baldwin nodded. “I understand the two are longtime friends. I believe Mr. Snow invested in the cotton and wool mills that Abbott has established in Lawrence, Massachusetts.” His lips curved in a wry smile. “He named the town after himself, just as Francis Cabot Lowell did before him. Not that those details are of any importance at the moment.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Baldwin. I didn’t want to cause undue concern, and when this occurred, you weren’t in town.” Morgan glanced at Mr. Hale. “I considered telling you, Mr. Hale, but I didn’t know that there was anything to be done. I’m still not sure there is. Did your attorney offer any insight regarding whether we should continue?”

  Mr. Baldwin snorted. “He’s a lawyer. I’m a businessman. My future is what’s at stake here, not his, so the decision on what to do will be mine. He believes it will be easy enough to prove the second submission is a forgery. He has hired a detective to see if we can locate this Franklin Montee and if criminal action should be pursued against him.”

  Morgan frowned. “I don’t see how they could beat us to production, M
r. Baldwin. We’ve been developing our loom for more than six months.”

  Mr. Baldwin sighed. “We’ve been going about this in a methodical and precise manner because we want the ability to produce more looms. They are likely moving in a haphazard manner with only one thought in mind—being the first ones to market. If they can show they were first to produce, they likely believe they will win any patent argument.”

  “And will they?” Morgan arched his brows.

  Mr. Baldwin shook his head. “Not if I have my way. We’re not only going to be first in submitting our drawings, we’re going to move at full speed to get one of our looms producing before the end of the month. Now, let me see that list of names you brought with you.”

  Morgan handed him the paper. “I’ll understand if you no longer want me to work on the project, Mr. Baldwin.”

  The older man glanced at the list before looking at Morgan. “Of course I want you to remain. Your intentions have always been honorable. In considering the matter, I must say the fault is my own. I shouldn’t have asked you to take the drawings home to study them. That was foolish of me.” He pointed to the list. “Now, let’s decide who we want on our team and have them begin work as soon as possible.”

  Once they’d made their decision, the men were called together, sworn to secrecy, and promised a bonus if they had the loom in production before the end of the month. Morgan had no doubt they’d be successful. Still, guilt had settled hard in his gut.

  As he walked back to the boardinghouse later that evening, Morgan’s thoughts skittered about in his head. He needed to do something to make this right. He had no idea who Franklin Montee was, but somehow he was going to find out.

  Chapter

  twenty

  Mid-October

  A DRY, POWDERY SNOW FELL AS MELLIE WALKED BESIDE Morgan, her hand tucked in the crook of his arm. The fresh snow glittered in the moonlight.

  Morgan covered her hand with his own. “Mellie, is something wrong? You’re so quiet this evening.”