A Perfect Silhouette

by Judith Miller

  “Morgan!” His mother beamed at him. “I am delighted to see you, but I must say your visit is unexpected. I hope you haven’t arrived to tell me you can’t attend Saturday night’s party.” She wagged her finger. “I won’t hear any excuses. Your grandfather is arriving on Friday, and I want the entire family, small though it be, in attendance on Saturday.”

  Morgan sighed. She was prepared to wage war before the first skirmish. “You may set aside your concerns about the party, Mother. I’ve come to speak with you and Father about more serious matters.” He gestured to the chairs. “Please sit down.”

  His mother momentarily looked at the chairs before turning her gaze toward the hallway. “I do hope this will be brief. What with our travels to Boston and the party only days away, I have pressing details that require my attention.”

  “My questions will be brief, but your answers may require more time.”

  Her eyes clouded with reluctance as she slowly lowered herself into one of the chairs. She glanced at her husband before turning to face Morgan. “Well? We’re here. Do begin.”

  “I have a number of questions about the lottery you initiated, the funds that were taken from the Amoskeag Company, and your sudden departure for Boston.”

  He inhaled a deep breath, but before he could say anything more, his mother interrupted. “I still haven’t heard a question, Morgan. Please get to the point.”

  “If that’s what you prefer, then here are my questions. Did the two of you agree to initiate the lottery? Was it your plan to use the lottery proceeds to repay the Amoskeag Company the money you’d taken?” He glanced at his father. “How have the lottery proceeds been used? Why did you depart for Boston without a word—and before the lottery drawing?”

  His father leaned back in his chair. “That’s a lot of questions, Morgan, and I suppose you deserve answers.”

  Morgan rested his arms on his thighs and met his father’s gaze. “The town deserves answers, Father. There are concerns about the use of the money raised through the lottery.” He turned to his mother. “That lottery may have raised a great deal of money, but it also inflicted pain and suffering on families in Manchester and beyond.”

  “Pain and suffering? You always did have a flair for the dramatic, Morgan. How could a lottery—?”

  “I’ll tell you how, Mother. A little boy died because one of the mill girls purchased lottery tickets rather than send her earnings home for her parents to purchase medicine or heat their home. Other families suffered in much the same way. Workers bought those tickets, certain they’d be the one to take home the winnings—and their families suffered as a result.”

  Anger flashed in his mother’s eyes. “That isn’t my fault. If their families suffered, it’s because they made a poor choice.”

  “I agree they made poor choices, but it was you who presented them with that choice. Don’t you see?”

  Her eyes softened, and she leaned back in the chair. “I was trying to help so the Stark Mills would be the first company with circular looms. I didn’t consider the possibility that purchasing lottery tickets would inflict harm on anyone. Truly, I didn’t.” She directed a beseeching look across the desk toward his father. “Did you consider such a thing, William?”

  “No, although I should have. I know there are men who gamble at cards or bet on horses without regard for the well-being of their families. But I never thought a lottery could create such misery.” He looked at Morgan. “If I’d given the matter the thought it deserved, I would have more fervently objected. It doesn’t change anything that happened to those families, but the funds weren’t used to pay back the Amoskeag Company.”

  His mother nodded. “That’s true, Morgan. Your grandfather wired money to the bank, but I had already initiated the lottery. The advertising had commenced, the tickets were distributed to the various shop owners, so I moved forward and decided we’d donate the money to charity.” She twisted a lacy handkerchief between her fingers. “What were your other questions?” Her voice faltered.

  “The lottery funds?”

  “Oh yes. Well, I’ve invited a number of children from the orphanage to Saturday’s party, as well as those from poor families in town.” She continued to thread the handkerchief through her fingers. “What if we donated a portion of the funds to the family of the child who died? Would that help? I’ve only used a small portion toward the children’s party. The money is in your father’s personal bank account.”

  Morgan forced a weak smile. “I’m not certain that’s wise. Perhaps a separate account should be set up at the bank and a committee appointed to decide how the funds will be used.”

  “That’s a wonderful idea, Morgan. I’ll take charge of the—”

  Morgan shook his head. “No, Mother. I don’t think any member of the Stark family should be on the committee. Perhaps the president of the bank and representatives of the working class would be more appropriate than a group of wealthy residents.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” She turned to her husband. “I’m sure you can arrange matters at the bank, can’t you, William?”

  “Yes, and I’ll ask Mr. Frederick to serve as chairman of the committee. Very well, my boy. I will give you or Mr. Frederick an accounting of the funds received and then replace any of the money your mother has used for Saturday’s party. The lottery was a tragic mistake. I should have insisted we find another way to secure the funds or let a competing mill be first with the circular looms. My decision to agree with your mother was influenced by my desire for wealth and respect.”

  His mother lifted the corner of her handkerchief to her eye. “I was only trying to help.”

  “I do believe you were trying to help, Mother. I’ve made mistakes in my efforts to help others, too.” Thoughts of his double life came to mind. What would Mellie do when she learned the truth? “Unfortunately, those mistakes can lead to heartbreak.” He hoped that wouldn’t be true for him, but he couldn’t blame Mellie if she never spoke to him again.

  “Thank you for expressing some understanding, Morgan.” She began to push up from her chair.

  “Wait. Neither of you has mentioned why you traveled to Boston. Was it to avoid any questions about the lottery funds?”

  His father shook his head. “The journey to Boston was totally unrelated to the lottery. I received word that my dear friend Amos March was in poor health, and he wanted me to visit as soon as possible.”

  His mother chuckled. “From the wording of his telegram, we thought he was going to die within the month.”

  Morgan arched his brows. “And?”

  His father shrugged. “Amos said it was the only way he could get me to Boston for a visit. Once there, we decided to stay for a while. Your mother enjoys his wife, Harriet, and when the two of them weren’t shopping, Harriet was hosting teas or insisting we attend the theater. We should have sent word, but you aren’t able to come to the house much and the thought didn’t enter my mind. I’m sorry if we worried you.”

  “As am I.” His mother patted his arm. “I do have a great deal to complete before the party on Saturday, so if we’ve cleared the air, I trust I can return to sorting decorations and place settings.”

  Morgan nodded. He wasn’t certain his mother understood the depth of the myriad problems created by the lottery, yet her willingness to step back and let others decide how the proceeds would be distributed pleased him. For that much he was thankful.

  Morgan moved to the washbasin and stared at his image in the small oval mirror hanging from a nail. He wanted to believe he was a man who simply longed to prove himself and help others. Had his desire to succeed become more important than helping others? He had to admit he’d made mistakes. Concealing his true identity had begun with good intent, but what if someone at the party recognized him? His plans to discover problems and create better conditions in the mills would likely come to a halt. He needed to face that reality, for tonight one of his mother’s guests might identify him. Though she’d said none of her gue
sts would be managers from the mills who might know him, he couldn’t depend upon that. After all, she didn’t know all those he’d met.

  Morgan glanced at his pocket watch. In order to arrive before the other guests and have time to change into his formal attire, he needed to be on his way. If he could have come up with any excuse to avoid attending, he would have.

  After shrugging into his heavy wool coat, he pulled open the front door and hurried toward the livery. He’d arranged for a horse the previous day and hoped the animal would be saddled and ready. Walking into a roomful of guests wearing work clothes wouldn’t bode well for him.

  When he arrived at the mansion a short time later, he took the horse to the stables and entered through the rear door. Bounding up the steps two at a time, he hurried to his bedroom and slipped inside. His mother hadn’t doubted his arrival, for a tub filled with warm water awaited him, his evening suit already set out. He shed his work clothes and settled into the cast-iron enameled tub. He hadn’t bathed in a tub since he’d moved into the boardinghouse, and the heated water soothed his worries. Leaning his head against the back of the tub, he closed his eyes.

  A knock on the bedroom door jarred him to attention. “Morgan! You need to hurry. I trust you’re not asleep in the bathtub. The guests will be arriving soon.” When he didn’t immediately respond, his mother knocked again, this time with more vigor. “Did you hear me?”

  He sighed. “Yes, Mother. Every word.”

  Once he’d completed his bath and dressed, Morgan returned downstairs, again using the rear stairs. He stopped at his father’s study. After a light tap on the door, he opened it and peered inside. Both his father and grandfather looked up and greeted him.

  Morgan stepped to his grandfather’s side and embraced him. “It’s good to see you, Grandfather. You look well. I trust you’re feeling healthy?”

  His grandfather motioned to the nearby chairs, and the two of them sat down opposite his father’s desk. “My health isn’t important. We all know your mother will be pleased to see me die so she can have all my money.” He snorted and shook his head. “After listening to your father, I’m thinking you’ve lost your mental faculties. What you’re doing at the mills makes no sense to me, Morgan. I’m sure there’s more to it than what we’ve had time to discuss, but this plan of yours seems foolhardy.”

  Before they could talk further, his mother entered the room. “Come along, all of you. The guests will be arriving at any moment.” When Morgan neared her side, her lips curved in a smile. “I know you won’t be pleased, but I’ve partnered you with Isabelle Armstrong, your childhood sweetheart. She’s looking forward to reviving your friendship.” His father and grandfather continued down the hallway toward the large foyer while Morgan remained behind with his mother. “She has remained enamored with you for all these years.”

  Morgan took a backward step. “That’s impossible. I haven’t seen her since I left for boarding school.”

  “That isn’t true, Morgan. Isabelle said you saw her during the summers when you came home.”

  He frowned. “I was in Manchester for only a week or two during my summer vacations. The remainder of the time was spent at our summer home or traveling abroad.” He tilted his head. “Surely you haven’t forgotten all those summers spent on the coast.”

  With a dismissive wave of her hand, she said, “Well, regardless, she remembers you, and she’s eager to fan the embers of lost love.”

  Morgan burst into laughter. “Fan the embers of lost love? Really, Mother? Have you been reading romance novels? I hear they’ve become quite popular, even though most women deny reading them.”

  She clasped a hand to her heart. “Morgan Stark! How dare you speak to your mother in such a manner?” She scowled and tapped his chest with her index finger. “I expect you to be on your best behavior tonight and to show Isabelle Armstrong every attention. The two of you would make a perfect match. She’s from a good family. One with a great deal of wealth to their name, which is always a good thing.”

  Morgan shook his head, disgusted his mother was attempting to match him with one of her guests. Even worse, she wanted him to marry someone who would bring wealth into the marriage. She obviously cared little about compatibility. If she had, she wouldn’t have married his father.

  “Come along.” She marched off, leaving him in her wake. This night was proving to be even more difficult than he’d imagined.

  Slowly, he followed his mother down the long hall that was decorated with greens and holly berries. He stopped and looked into the grand parlor that adjoined the oversize dining room. His mother had spared no expense with her decorations. An assortment of candles and bows of every size, shape, and fabric, more greenery, and myriad crystal had been arranged on the mantels and side tables. A glowing candelabra centered the dining room table. He couldn’t deny the decorations were more beautiful than any she’d ever displayed. He wondered if his grandfather had paid for these, as well.

  His parents began introducing their guests to Morgan and his grandfather. Although Morgan had likely seen or met most of them at some time in the distant past, he hadn’t yet recognized anyone.

  Then his mother nudged him with her elbow. “Isabelle has just arrived with her parents. Don’t embarrass me.”

  “I only intentionally embarrassed you when I was a child. As an adult, such incidents have been pure happenstance.” He tipped his head to the side and grinned.

  Isabelle entered, holding her father’s arm. She was a beautiful young woman. Any available man would be proud to court her, so why did his mother believe she cared for him? Truth be told, he never believed Isabelle thought of him as anything other than a playmate and friend. Besides, their times together had been short-lived, and they’d been too young to develop serious feelings for each other. Still, if any portion of what his mother said was true, he didn’t want to humiliate Isabelle in any way. If she indicated she was interested in him as a suitor, he’d gently let her know he wasn’t available. Mellie had already won his heart.

  For a brief time before dinner, the guests mingled in the grand parlor, allowing them time to admire the decorations and compliment the host and hostess. At least that was how Morgan viewed the interval before dinner. Since he’d been paired with Isabelle, he decided to use the time to his advantage.

  Isabelle’s jeweled hairpins shimmered in the candlelight as she glanced around the room. “The house is truly festive. Your mother always decorates with such fine taste.” She looked at him with a sweet smile. “I hope you won’t mind my saying, but you’ve changed a great deal, Morgan. I wouldn’t have recognized you. Of course, it’s been a number of years since we’ve seen each other. You’ve gone through quite a transformation. I’ve always remembered you as a rather gangly young fellow with few interests other than riding and skipping rocks.” She chuckled. “I suppose we all change once we leave those younger years behind us.”

  “Very true.” He returned her smile. If she remembered him as a gangly youth with few interests, why would she now be interested in him as a suitor? Had her mother encouraged her to consider him as a possible husband? “I’ve discovered there’s much more to life than riding and skipping rocks, just as I’m sure you’ve come to enjoy more than your dolls and play tea sets.”

  “Oh, you remember how I forced you to pretend to have tea with my dollies. I’m charmed.” She removed an ivory fan from her waist and snapped it open. “Yes, like you, my interests have evolved through the years, and the list of those I consider dear friends has progressed, as well.” She hesitated. “I find it difficult to believe a lovely young lady hasn’t captured your attention by now.”

  She had opened the door to exploring other romantic possibilities, and he decided to enter in. There might not be another opportunity this evening. “And I find it difficult to believe you haven’t been besieged by an onslaught of marriage proposals. Have none of those men met your expectations? Or perhaps your parents haven’t approved of them?”

&nb
sp; Isabelle lowered her eyes. “In truth, you’ve hit upon my dilemma.” She lifted her gaze again and sighed. “My parents don’t know I am in love and have promised him my hand. He wants to meet them and pledge his love and ask permission to marry me, but I know my parents need to adjust to the idea that I would wed someone who is, in their estimation, beneath me.” A tear formed in the corner of her eye, and she dabbed it with a lace-edged handkerchief. “He is a good and honorable man who loves me—and I love him. Sometimes I wish I had been born into a normal family, one that didn’t place all their value on wealth.” She took a step closer and lowered her voice. “I don’t want to offend or hurt you in any way, Morgan, but before coming here this evening, I determined that I would be truthful with you.”

  One part of Morgan wanted to weep with her, for he understood her pain; the other part wanted to jump in the air and click his heels, for he now knew she didn’t desire him as a suitor. “Thank you for your honesty, Isabelle. You need not harbor any concerns about hurting me. You see, I find myself in the same predicament as you. I’m in love with a young woman, and she, too, is of a different social class. I haven’t told my parents—they won’t approve. At least my mother won’t approve. I haven’t yet asked the young lady for her hand, since there are some other obstacles to be overcome before that can occur. But I know she is the one I want to have by my side for the rest of my life.” He grinned. “So, it seems we can now enjoy the party without the worry of meeting our parents’ expectations. Am I right?”

  She returned his smile. “I’m beyond belief that both of us find ourselves in the same situation. Yet I am so relieved. I arrived here overwhelmed with both worry and heartache. I knew my parents had spoken with your parents about a possible match, and my mother indicated you would be delighted at the prospect.”

  He stepped closer to her. “My mother suggested you would be delighted if I asked to court you. I doubt they had any idea this conversation would ever take place.” He nodded toward the fireplace. “Right now, our mothers are deep in conversation and looking this way. I’m sure they’re watching us with our heads together and think they can begin planning a wedding for next year.”