“She was at the party, Mother, but not as a guest.” His mother’s forehead creased in tiny lines. He could almost hear her thoughts whirring. “Her name is Mellicent Blanchard, and she—”
“The girl who was cutting the silhouettes?” His mother visibly paled. “You’re planning to court the girl who works in the photography shop? I won’t have it!”
He patted her hand. “No need to shout, Mother. I want to talk to you about my plans, but only if the conversation can remain civil. If not, I can leave.”
“I didn’t mean to shout, but you must realize what a shock this is. I’d like to know what she said or did in the short time she was cutting your silhouette that has so mesmerized you.”
Not wanting to further distress her, he forced back a laugh. “I didn’t meet her at the party. I’ve known her for months, but our courtship hasn’t been a formal one because she has little free time. I walk her home from the photography shop each evening, and we’ve enjoyed several outings. She’s a fine young woman with high ideals. If she agrees to marry me, I’ll consider myself the most fortunate man in all of New England.”
His mother leaned back and inhaled a long breath. “I’m sorry, but for a Stark to marry a girl who works in a photography shop is simply unacceptable.”
“I forgot to mention that during the daytime she works at Stark Mill Number Two as a loom operator.” He tightened his lips into a thin line. “I’m sure that won’t please you, either. Regardless, she’s the woman I love, Mother, and the woman I plan to marry. She is more than acceptable to me.”
His mother shook her head until a pin fell from her hair. “I will not hear of it! What will people think?”
He shrugged. “I don’t care what people think. Those who truly care about either of us will be happy that we’ve found each other. I hope you will be one of those people. If not, it changes nothing for me. You can say the marriage would be unacceptable as often as you like, but it will have no effect. I plan to marry her with or without your blessing.”
“You would choose her over your inheritance?”
“Money is your first love, Mother, not mine. You’ve let it rule your life, and look at what it has done. Do you so quickly forget how you badgered Father until he agreed to pilfer money that belonged to the Amoskeag Company? And then you arranged that lottery.” He shuddered.
She folded her arms across her chest. “The lottery proceeds are going to do some good. I’ve agreed to the committee you suggested.”
“As I told you before, it also caused much heartache and pain. Besides, you didn’t originate the lottery for charitable purposes. You set it up to serve your own purposes.”
Mrs. Stark dabbed a handkerchief to her eye. “You believe I’m a terrible woman.”
He took her hand. “No, I believe you’re a misguided woman who can change if you truly desire to do so. I also believe you need to seek God’s forgiveness.”
She paused before nodding. “You’re right. I know what I did was wrong, but I dislike admitting my mistakes.” She hesitated a moment longer. “After I’ve asked for God’s forgiveness, I suppose I should ask for your father’s, as well. I know how much he loves me. I’ve become accustomed to getting my way with him—and with most everyone else.” She looked up and gave him a weak smile. “It appears you’re going to change that.”
Although the talk with his mother hadn’t begun well, it had ended better than Morgan had expected. She now understood that he wasn’t going to let her control his future.
Chapter
twenty-eight
SINCE HER RECENT TALK WITH MORGAN, MELLIE HAD been able to think of little else. She’d been at work for only an hour when Cora left her looms and nudged Mellie to point out broken threads in her cloth. Later, when the breakfast bell rang, Clara had to call her name twice before she turned off her machines.
“What’s wrong with you today, Mellie?” Cora glanced over her shoulder as she descended the winding stairs. “Your mind seems to be everywhere but on your looms. You’re lucky Mr. Fuqua didn’t see those broken threads before me.”
“I know. Thank you for coming to my rescue.” Mellie looped arms with Cora at the bottom of the steps.
Clara came alongside and linked arms with her sister. “Did you receive some bad news from home, Mellie?” She didn’t wait for an answer before continuing. “Are you ill? I heard some of the girls haven’t been feeling well.”
Mellie shook her head and smiled. “No, I haven’t had any bad news from home, and I’m feeling fine. I didn’t sleep very well last night, however.”
Clara nodded. “I know how that can be, but do whatever you can to stay alert for the rest of the day. Maybe you should stay home and rest this evening instead of going to the photography shop. I can go to town and tell Mr. Harrison you’re not well.”
Mellie loved these two girls. They’d been kind to her since the day she’d arrived. The two of them had even begun to joke that she was their triplet. She hadn’t told a falsehood. She truly hadn’t slept well last night, yet that wasn’t the only reason she couldn’t concentrate at work. Her mind jumped from one thought to another as she attempted to make sense of everything Morgan had told her. She longed to talk with someone else and gain an objective opinion, but she didn’t know if anyone could understand everything that had happened. After all, she was having difficulty sifting through much of it herself. And her questions regarding the lottery hadn’t been completely answered yet.
Though the Christmas party for the children had been lovely, she wondered where the remainder of the lottery money had gone. She hoped none of those funds had been used to pay for the extravagant gala for Mrs. Stark’s society friends. Surely no one who avowed to be raising funds for a charitable organization would use a portion of the money for such a thing. Judging from the number of tickets sold at the photography shop, she estimated over a thousand dollars must have been raised. And the winner had received only one hundred dollars. Perhaps Mr. Stark could shed some light on the use of the lottery funds.
The thought of meeting with Mr. Stark was enough to send a shiver of fear through her belly to the tips of her toes. Morgan had been certain his father would speak to her, but she now worried that meeting him could prove a terrible mistake. If things didn’t go well with his father, would she and Morgan ever be able to mend their differences?
She sighed. First things first. Morgan hadn’t yet arranged the meeting.
Clara pulled open the front door of the boardinghouse. “Did you hear me, Mellie? I said I could speak to Mr. Harrison if you want to rest this evening.”
Mellie followed Clara and Cora into the house. “No, I need to work tonight and earn as much money as I can. With Christmas approaching, I want to have enough to purchase gifts for my sister and her children. I know she won’t have the money to give them much. If I work every evening, I may have enough to purchase coal to last her through the winter, as well.” She smiled at the girls. “And if I have a little extra left over, I’m going to purchase a train ticket and go to Concord for the day. It’s been so long since I’ve seen them all. I worry the children aren’t going to remember me.”
“Don’t be silly, Mellie. They’re old enough that they won’t forget you. But I think it would be wonderful if you could go and enjoy Christmas with them. I wish we could go home.” Cora directed a doleful look at her sister.
Clara smiled. “Maybe next year. Besides, we will need more than one day. Concord is close enough for Mellie to travel there by train and return on the same day. Traveling to Albany is much farther—and more expensive.”
“I know, Clara. I was just saying it would be nice if we could be at home with the rest of our family. Still, we have each other, and we’ll have a good Christmas here in Manchester with the other girls.”
Along with the rest of the girls, they rushed to the dining table and gobbled down their breakfast, braved the cold to take turns at the privy, then hurried back to the mill, repeating the same process when the noonday bell rang. By mid
afternoon Mellie stood at the looms and allowed her lack of sleep, the humidity, and the thrumming of the looms to lull her into a stupor.
At a tap on her shoulder, she startled, spun around, and came face-to-face with Mr. Fuqua. The kindness that usually shone in his eyes was replaced by a hard stare. He gestured for her to turn off her looms, gather her belongings, and follow him. She could feel the eyes of every operator watching them as they crossed the room. He opened the door leading into the stairwell and motioned her forward.
Even with the door closed, he was required to yell so that she could hear him. “You’re to report to Mr. Walters over in the main office at Stark Number One. You would have gone there to turn in your papers before you started working here.” He glanced toward the stairs. “Do you remember where it’s located?”
“Yes, but why am I to go there? Have I done something wrong?” Her voice trembled with fear.
The overseer shrugged and cupped his hands to his mouth. “Not that I know of. I haven’t reported you for anything, but I never know what’s going on in the main office. Hurry. You best not keep Mr. Walters waiting too long.”
After rushing down the winding stairs, Mellie shrugged into her cloak, yanked the hood over her head, and pushed open the heavy door. There wasn’t much distance between the two buildings, but traversing it took more than enough time to give her emotions full sway. If Mr. Fuqua hadn’t reported her for anything, why would Mr. Walters order her to the main office? This couldn’t be good.
She came to a halt when she was struck by another thought—one that landed like a punch to the midsection. What if Morgan had spoken to his father and Mr. Stark sent word to Mr. Walters that she should be terminated? If Morgan’s parents wanted him to stop seeing her, the easiest method would be to terminate her employment and make certain she was blackballed from working at any of the other mills. She would be forced to leave Manchester, and she would be out of Morgan’s life.
Step by step, Mellie forced herself to move forward while she recalled stories of employee terminations and how they’d been blackballed and unable to secure work at any of the other mills. There was an unwritten agreement between the agents and overseers at the various mills. They shared the names of employees who’d been terminated and agreed among themselves that they wouldn’t hire a man or woman who’d been fired by another mill. They used their blackballing method to make certain that employees remained for the full term of their employment contract and that they followed all the rules of the mill and the boardinghouse. They did the same in Lowell—at least that was what Mellie had been told by a girl who had once worked there. No doubt many of the rules and regulations in Manchester were the same as those practiced in Lowell.
By the time she stepped inside the main building, she was trembling with fear. She crossed the vestibule and entered the outer office. The clerk gestured to the door leading into Mr. Walters’s office. “Go on in. He’s expecting you.”
She swallowed hard. Even the clerk had anticipated her arrival. This couldn’t be good. Although she’d been told to go into the agent’s office, she tapped lightly on the door before entering.
Mr. Walters looked up from a sheaf of papers atop his desk and squinted over his glasses. “Miss Blanchard?”
Mellie met his gaze. “Yes, sir.”
“I received a message from Mr. Stark that I was to send you to the front gate at two-thirty this afternoon. It is near that time, so I suggest you make your way there as quickly as possible.” He extended a note to her. “Give this to the watchman so he knows you have permission to leave early.”
“Am I to return, sir?”
His brow furrowed. “Unless I receive word to the contrary, I will expect you to report back to your overseer as usual. I’ve been told nothing more than what I’ve just told you.” He returned his attention to his papers. “As I said, you should hurry if you want to be at the gate on time.”
She nodded and mumbled her thanks before leaving the office. Moments later, she made her way across the mill yard, where the watchman stepped out of his small enclosure while rubbing his beefy hands together. She handed him the note.
He read it and nodded. “There’s a buggy waiting for you, miss.”
The heavy iron gate groaned as the older man pulled it open wide enough to permit Mellie space to exit. Once outside the gate, she caught sight of the buggy parked a short distance away.
Morgan jumped down and hurried to her side. “I hope none of this has frightened you.”
Mellie stared at him a moment. “Frightened?” She shook her head. “No. I’d say terrified more aptly describes what I’ve experienced over the past fifteen minutes. Is all of this your doing?”
“Yes, I’m afraid it is, and I’m sorry to have alarmed you.” He escorted her to the buggy and helped her up. Once settled inside, he turned to her. “I went to visit my father earlier today. He agreed to visit with you this afternoon, but the only way to arrange for you to meet him was to have you leave work early.”
“I thought I was going to be terminated, and then I didn’t know what to think when Mr. Walters said I was expected to be at the front gate at two-thirty.” She inhaled a deep breath. “So, we’re going to meet with your father right now?”
“Yes. My mother has gone to visit an ailing friend, so it will be just the three of us.” He picked up the reins and flicked his wrists.
Her momentary relief at knowing she wasn’t going to be fired was replaced by the knowledge that she was now heading to the Stark mansion to meet Morgan’s father. She doubted the owner of the Stark Mills was going to be pleased to confide in one of the company employees, especially one of her station.
“I’ve spoken to both of my parents, but my father more fully understands why I needed to keep my identity a secret, and he can detail the circumstances surrounding the lottery.”
Her fear mounted as they neared the mansion. “I can’t do this, Morgan. Not now.” She touched the fabric of her worn dress. “Look at me. I’m in a work dress that is frayed and dusted in lint. My hair is coming loose from the pins, and my boots are wet from the snow.”
While holding the reins in one hand, he covered her hand with the other. “You look perfect no matter what you’re wearing. My father isn’t going to judge you by your appearance, Mellie. He knows that you work in the mill and you’re coming here from work. Please don’t worry. You’ll find him to be kind and gentle.” He tipped his head to the side. “Sometimes too kind—at least where my mother is concerned.”
A short time later, Morgan pulled back on the reins and brought the horses to a halt in front of the portico. A groom appeared out of nowhere and took the reins from Morgan while he helped Mellie down from the buggy.
He held her elbow as he led her inside through the front door. Thoughts of the gala, cutting silhouettes, and her time with the precious children flooded her mind as they continued down the long hallway. He tapped on the door before leading her inside one of the mansion’s many rooms.
A gentleman with white hair stood and smiled when they approached. Before Morgan could introduce her, his father gestured to a chair. “I’m William Stark, and you must be Miss Blanchard, the woman who has captured my son’s heart. I’m pleased to meet you.”
Heat rushed up Mellie’s neck and across her cheeks. “Thank you, Mr. Stark. The pleasure is mine.”
After they’d removed their coats and were seated, Mr. Stark leaned forward and rested his arms on the top of his desk. “I understand you have some concerns about Morgan concealing his identity from you. Going into the mills as a workman was his idea, and at first I thought it foolish. However, once I understood that his plan was to discover how to create better conditions for the workers and hopefully increase production, I was in favor of the idea.” Mr. Stark continued to detail Morgan’s involvement with the new bagging looms and that secrecy had been a necessity. He pointed a finger toward his son. “I can attest to the fact that Morgan’s motive was always honorable, miss.”
Mellie smiled. “I appreciate that you’re willing to explain the reason for his hidden identity, but I continue to have some questions about the lottery. You see, Morgan had voiced his aversion to gambling and the lottery to me. So I’m sure you can understand my confusion and anger when I discovered his mother—your wife—had organized the event. I was certain he knew and had withheld that from me. It eroded my trust in him.”
“Yes, I can see how that occurred. Let me enlighten you on what happened, then—and I would request that you keep what I’m about to tell you in confidence.”
Mellie nodded her agreement and then listened carefully as Mr. Stark described the financial difficulties that prohibited moving forward with the bagging looms and his wife’s insistence that he transfer funds from the Amoskeag Company to the Stark accounts and later repay the funds with money from her father. “When the money didn’t arrive from her father as quickly as expected, she concocted the lottery idea so I could replace the funds.”
“And did her father ever give her the money?”
Mr. Stark nodded. “Yes.”
“And the lottery proceeds? Where is that money? Surely it wasn’t all used for the party.”
“No, it wasn’t.” Mr. Stark folded his hands atop the desk. “My wife originally planned to use a portion of the proceeds for the children’s party, but we decided against that idea. I myself paid for the party. There’s an accounting of the proceeds and ticket sales from each merchant, and the money has been deposited into a separate bank account at First Bank here in Manchester. Mr. Frederick, the bank president, has agreed to take charge of a committee that will be appointed to distribute the money in an appropriate manner.”
Morgan nodded. “The committee will consist of members of the working class who volunteer to be involved.” He glanced at his father. “Neither my parents nor I will serve on the committee.”
“That’s right.” His father turned back to Mellie. “This has been an ugly business. All of it. I blame myself for not having had the courage to tell my wife no when she wanted me to transfer funds from one company to another. When the money didn’t arrive from her father, she decided upon the lottery as a way to repay the Amoskeag Company. Believe me, Morgan didn’t know anything about the lottery, Miss Blanchard. Truth be told, my wife had already moved forward with her plan before I knew about it. I’m not attempting to absolve myself in the matter, but I do want you to know that the lottery was conducted without Morgan’s knowledge.” He exhaled a long breath. “Again, I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t discuss this matter with anyone else. I do plan to take steps to resign my position and set this whole affair aright within the week.”
A Perfect Silhouette Page 27
