Reluctant Brides Collection

by Cathy Marie Hake

  A shy smile touched her lips as she held out a doll. He didn’t bother to look at the toy—he could barely take his eyes off the woman. A becoming flush tinted her cheeks, and several tiny wisps of her rich brown hair spiraled at her temples and nape. Queen Esther couldn’t have been half as lovely. Realizing he bordered on being rude for staring, he focused his attention on the doll. After he set aside the blueprint and wiped his hands off on the thighs of an old pair of heavy broadcloth pants, he accepted the toy.

  “Betty’s barely two. Amy took in her baby sister, too.” Isabel smiled lovingly at the doll. “Little Betty’s hair is that same shade of chestnut, and I embroidered brown eyes to make them match hers—only hers are so big and pretty.”

  “The doll is splendid.” Carter didn’t try to hide his grin. “Can’t say I ever held one before, but if little Betty is half as sweet as this, I’m surprised someone hasn’t adopted her.”

  “She’s far cuter, but she has a limp. Amy Ross gets an occasional inquiry, but folks are generally looking for a healthy older girl to watch their younger children or use as a maid. Amy won’t let the girls work until they’re sixteen. Most of her girls are fine, but Betty has a limp, and Ginger is nearly blind.”

  He thoughtfully fingered the little loops of reddish-brown yarn that made a mop of curls. “How many children did you say she has?”

  “Sixteen. Mary Tottard is the oldest. You met her the other day and let her have material for an apron. She and Veronica are the only ones who work.”

  The pink-and-white-striped dress on the doll jarred his memory. “I see you’re clever about using scraps.”

  “Every scrap counts.” Her smile sparkled with joy. “I can’t thank you enough for talking Mr. Jefford into allowing us to have the material. He always admonishes us about the little things adding up around here. This time, those little bits of fabric will add up for the orphans.”

  “I thought the remnants and seconds were always donated to worthy causes.”

  Her brows arched. “Why, no, sir. They’re sold in the company store.”

  Disgust twisted through him. Why did I expect this would be any different? Every rock I pick up has slime under it.

  At every turn, Carter discovered ways his father and the overseer squeezed every last penny of profit imaginable from the mill. How much money could one man want? His family lived in luxury, yet his father cut the wages of these women, then sold them flawed goods in order not to take a complete loss. Yet another sin of his I need to atone for….

  “Look at that,” one of the women exclaimed as she walked in. “Isabel, you made another doll. Will you get to take this one home to your sisters?”

  Isabel’s smile faded a bit. “No, I’m afraid not.”

  The woman patted her arm. “It’s sweet of you to send Christmas gifts to them.”

  “We’re making dolls for the girls at Kindred Hearts. If you’d like to join us, you can come to my room any evening.”

  After the other woman walked off, Carter gently set the doll into Isabel’s arms. He watched how she nestled it close. For some reason, she looked so right with that baby doll cradled to her bosom. Tenderhearted as she was, she’d be a very loving mother. “I could get you more fabric so you could make them for your little sisters, too.”

  “It’s kind of you to offer, but I used my fabric allotment to do that last Christmas.” The steam engines started to chuff. “I need to get back to my looms. I didn’t mean to take up so much of your time.”

  “Hey you! Get busy. I don’t pay you to angle for a husband. And you—the women are off-limits. Get those last machines out of here and—” Jefford’s voice came to a strangled halt when he drew close enough to see around the loom’s frame.

  Carter stared at him coldly. The bell to begin work hadn’t yet rung. He’d seen Isabel oil her looms already, so she’d prepared for the day.

  “Mr. Steadman—” Jefford stammered and cleared his throat.

  “Steadman!” Isabel’s eyes widened and the color drained from her face. A second later, two bright pink spots appeared in her cheeks. “I’m sorry I bothered you, sir.” She turned and dashed off.

  Chapter 5

  Carter rolled down his shirtsleeves as Jefford stammered. “Begging your pardon, sir. I didn’t realize it was you. I never would have—I mean, I was just trying to make sure. I don’t let the workers flirt or trifle with one another here—”

  Carter lifted a single finger, and the other man fell silent. “What time is it?”

  The overseer fumbled to retrieve his pocket watch, then faltered, “Five until the hour, sir.”

  Just then, the bell to begin work rang. The supervisor stepped onto his stool and pulled a cord. Above him, a leather belt shifted onto a tight pulley, and every loom in the room groaned and rattled into action. The floor rumbled beneath their feet.

  Carter tilted his head and squinted at the ceiling. “Am I to assume you’ve weaseled five extra minutes in the morning, just as you have at the dinner hour?”

  Jefford had to lean close to hear the question over the din. He shouted back, “By your father’s orders!”

  “Ten minutes a day, six days a week.” Carter glared at him. “That’s an extra hour of work each week.”

  “We pay them by the week, not the hour,” Jefford pointed out as he shifted from one foot to the other.

  “I’ll have to think about how to make restitution. You’re to personally adjust the chimes so they ring true to time.” Carter walked off, climbed the stairs, and strode across the catwalk. He looked down at the floor of the weaving room and gritted his teeth. How do I make up for the way these women have been cheated? Dad had so much—couldn’t he at least pay them and deal with them fairly?

  The looms were operating at normal speed instead of at the frantic pace of a few days ago. As he and the workmen had spaced out the remaining looms, safe room existed for the weavers to tend to their labors. Those facts should have brought him satisfaction, but they didn’t.

  He looked down at Row Sixteen. At their first meeting, he hadn’t revealed his identity to Isabel Shaw. He’d originally assumed she knew who he was, then refrained from introducing himself once he realized differently. At some point, he should have said something, but he hadn’t. Regrets assailed him.

  All she wanted to do was thank me for letting her help the orphans…and she got embarrassed for her sweet intentions and nice manners. She didn’t get to take the dolls to her own sisters last year and doesn’t plan to go see them again this Christmas. How long since she went home for a visit?

  The women who worked in Lowell wore clothing comparable to fashion plates. As he came home from Europe, he’d ridden through Lowell and noted how those women, dressed in their stylish designs, could easily blend into the merchant class of the Continent. He squinted as he studied the women below him. What had Isabel said? Beneath our aprons, many of us have tattered skirts.

  Were those words mere consolation, an exaggeration, or a revelation that the workers preferred to keep their better garments to wear away from the mill?

  Then again, there seemed to be two distinctly different groups of women here. Some came to benefit from the after-work classes and library and were able to save their wages for a brother or son’s education. Others—like Isabel—sent almost every last cent home to distressed families.

  When the bell sounded for the midday meal, Carter discreetly stood off to the side and watched the women head for the tables. He specifically came to Isabel’s boardinghouse, partly because the women had already seen him there, so his presence wouldn’t be cause for comment. Most of all, Carter chose that house because he found Isabel so appealing, he’d take any chance or excuse to be closer to her.

  From a spot beside the door, Carter studied the sleeves and hems of the women’s lint-covered gowns. He meant no disrespect, but he needed to collect facts. Jefford didn’t have a sympathetic bone in his body, and the women likely wouldn’t be bold enough to complain to Carter, so he sil
ently observed the condition of their clothing. Just before he turned to leave, he watched Isabel for one last moment. Weak noontime sunlight slanted from the window and brought out the sparkle in her beautiful eyes. Even dressed in worn calico and dusted with lint, she reminded him of a queen.

  Isabel lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. She couldn’t get to sleep. “Kathleen?” she whispered in the dark.

  “Oh, so you’re awake, too?”

  “Likely I’m purple from pinching myself to see if I’m awake.”

  Kathleen muffled her laughter. “Then you’ll match the material for your new dress.”

  “As long as I don’t match the pumpkin pie we had at supper, I’ll be happy.”

  “Could you believe that? It’s been months since we had such a meal.” Kathleen folded her hands behind her head and stared at the ceiling. “Fine food and new clothes. I hardly know what to think.”

  Isabel rolled over and knew exactly what to think. Carter Steadman’s hand and heart were behind all these changes. She stared at the fabric draped over the foot of their bed. A length of plaid in plum and two shades of blue lay there, waiting to be made into a new dress. Beside it, a dove gray-and-black stripe shimmered dully in the moonlight. Isabel selected it for Mama—since she’d been in mourning for two years, gray would be proper. Right beside those pieces, the verdant green dress length Kathleen chose for herself made a cheerful swag atop the amber calico.

  “Kathleen, I ought to be ashamed for asking, but could we maybe work on our dresses tomorrow instead of the dolls? We have almost a month to go before Christmas.”

  Kathleen chuckled. “I was trying to find a way to ask you the same thing!”

  Grace sat up and grumbled, “I’m tired. Will you just hush up? Just because you were both here long enough to get two lengths, you don’t have to gloat.”

  Two dress lengths…and they weren’t even to be counted against the two yards the Steadmans gave to each worker at Christmas! If that weren’t enough, a grim-faced young Mr. Steadman had stood before everyone that afternoon.

  “You have my personal apology. I’ve discovered the bells were set wrong. I’ve calculated you all worked about an hour extra each week.”

  Everyone stood in the yard, uneasy with his revelation, but careful not to voice discontent for fear Jefford or someone else would note dissenters and blacklist them.

  Carter Steadman went on. “I owe the workers here restitution. Pay will be brought back up to the wages noted in my ledger from two years ago. You will each be paid double this week, and tomorrow will be a holiday for you. Just as I expect your best efforts and loyalty, I’ll do my utmost to deal with you fairly.”

  His admission astonished Isabel. If his honesty and humility weren’t enough, his restitution stunned her. The whole yard rang with cheers. Once the clamor died down, Mr. Steadman added, “For those who have worked here less than a year, you may have a dress or shirt-length of fabric. Those who’ve worked here longer may have two.”

  Lying in the dark, Isabel remembered every word he’d said. Tomorrow would be like a holiday—they’d have a day off work to use at their leisure. “Imagine, we’re off on a Saturday!”

  Grace threw a pillow at her. “Isabel, I declare, the minute we blow out the lamp at night, you start chattering.”

  “Sorry, Grace. I did that back home, too.” She started to laugh. “Oops. Sorry. I was talking again.”

  “Mother, were you aware Father was selling the seconds and remnants to the workers instead of donating them to charity?” Carter sat across the supper table and waited for an answer.

  “Why, no, dear. We rarely discussed business.” She took a sip of tea, then smiled. “You could ask Mr. Jefford. Your father trusted him implicitly.”

  “I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, Mother. You’ll hear things are changing at Steadman Textiles and for good cause. Father and Mr. Jefford agreed on despicable practices.”

  “Despicable? Now, Carter, I know you didn’t agree with your father at times—”

  “Mother, word is going to get out. I’d rather tell you these things myself than have you hear gossip from others. The workers have been cheated—blatantly cheated. The chimes didn’t ring true time, so they’ve set to work early, gotten off late, and had shortened mealtimes. Because the Irish girls are so desperate to earn money to bring family over, the wages were dropped.”

  “Oh, Carter!” She placed her hand to the bodice of her black bombazine mourning gown. “This is shameful.”

  “I agree.” He gave her a grim smile. “I’m setting things right, but I felt it only fair to warn you, there may be comments about the changes being made. I also needed to ask where the seconds used to go so we can resume donating them to worthy causes.”

  A frown marred her brow. “I couldn’t rightly say. Since Amy Ross started running Kindred Hearts, I was certain we’d been donating material to the little orphans.”

  He shook his head as he sliced the savory roast beef. “I made inquiries. As a matter of fact, one of the weavers offered to sacrifice taking a length for herself so she could have material to make dolls for the children for Christmas. I rode by the orphanage today, and though the girls all looked happy as could be, they wore frocks that were patched and threadbare.”

  “This cannot continue—we must do something at once!”

  “My thoughts precisely. I’d like to gather up some material for the children to have new frocks and small clothes. Would you like to deliver it?”

  “Of course I will. I’ll get buttons, ribbons, and thread, too.” The creases on her forehead smoothed as the serving maid carried in dessert plates. The aroma of apples and cinnamon wafted through the room, and Carter thought that was the cause of his mother’s pleasure until she coyly added, “I could ask Belinda Atherton to accompany me. You missed seeing her daughters, Carter. They’re both comely girls and quite accomplished.”

  “Mother, please don’t try to play matchmaker.”

  “Someone has to. I want grandchildren, Carter. It’s high time for you to marry a nice girl and start a family.”

  “I suppose you have a bevy of suitable prospects.” He sighed.

  “Now that you mention it…”

  “Hold on.” Carter held up both hands in a horrified gesture. “The mill is going to keep me busy for some time. I’d like to ask if you’d help me with the charity issues instead of parading eligible girls by the door at every opportunity.”

  “I could do both, you know.”

  Chapter 6

  Two girls bracketed Isabel on the shabby red velvet settee in the orphanage’s parlor. She worked with each of them as they cross-stitched alphabet samplers while she cuddled little Betty on her lap. “Alys, you did a wonderful job on that line. You’re running out of floss. Knot that and rethread your needle. What color would you like to use?”

  “Rose, please. It’s so pretty!”

  “Aye, now.” Ginger’s knitting needles clacked in a steady rhythm. “That’s our Alys for you—always loving rose the best. I always know ’tis her comin’ me way when I see her pink dress.”

  Kathleen winked at Isabel. They’d arranged with Amy and Ginger to give them hints about the girls and what colors to use for their dolls.

  One of the older girls sat on the floor, whipstitching an orange patch she’d cleverly cut to look like a fish to cover a small hole in the bodice of a little dress. Kathleen sat on another settee, cradling the baby and helping the twins with their samplers.

  A few minutes later, Amy lifted Ruthie onto a small cherrywood end table so she could measure her dress to see how many inches of a strip from a flour sack she needed to insert to stretch it to a decent length.

  When someone knocked on the door, Mary hopped up. “I’ll get it, Auntie Amy.” A second later, Isabel heard her squeak, “Mr. Steadman!”

  A minute later, Carter Steadman and his mother came into the parlor. He smoothly reached down, helped Amy to her feet, and greeted her warmly. “I’m so sorry to h
ear you lost Jason. He was such a good friend and a fine man. He’d be proud of you for opening your heart and home to all of these little girls.”

  Amy gave him a warm smile, and her voice barely quavered at all. “Mrs. Steadman and Carter, what a lovely surprise. I miss Jason terribly, and I’m so sorry for your loss as well.”

  “I should stop clackin’ these needles and get tea, Aunt Amy.” Ginger set aside her knitting and chuckled softly as she rose. “I recall me dear granny saying tea is better than sympathy.”

  Mrs. Steadman managed a watery little laugh. “Tea would be lovely.”

  “While you visit, I’ll take care of things,” Carter Steadman murmured to his mother. He then nodded politely to Isabel. “Miss Isabel, it looks like your little friends are talented with their needles.”

  “Yes, they are.” She hoped she didn’t sound too silly. Seeing him at the orphanage shocked her.

  He turned and greeted Kathleen by name, then met Veronica. To his credit, he didn’t treat them as lowly weavers in his factory. His manners were impeccable, and he managed to momentarily excuse himself while they all tried to cover their surprise with small talk.

  Moments later, he came back inside the parlor with two large, paper-wrapped packages under his arms. He set them down, left, and returned with two more.

  Quite commendably, Amy had taught her charges fine manners. Two of the older ones took the initiative to bring in chairs from the dining room, and the twins had already hopped up so Mrs. Steadman could sit on the settee with Kathleen. Though the girls desperately wanted to know what the packages contained, none of them asked. As Carter straightened up from setting down the additional packages, Alys popped off the settee she shared with Isabel. “You can have my place, Sir. I’ll go help with the teacups!”

  Isabel couldn’t quite imagine sitting next to her employer. Their social circles didn’t overlap. She started to rise. “I’ll help—”

  “I’m sure Amy has plenty of help in the kitchen already, Miss Isabel.” Carter smiled at her, then brushed his knuckles over Alys’s cheek. “Thank you for the seat, Little One.” As Alys giggled and skipped off, Carter started to lower his tall frame onto the dainty settee.