Bradley stepped out of his carriage in front of the Merrimack House. He’d agreed to meet Malcolm Wainwright for breakfast and then escort him on a tour of the textile mills. Settling at his table with a steaming cup of coffee, Bradley contemplated the events of the past few days. He didn’t believe Wainwright was ready to sign a contract, but he appeared somewhat receptive to the possibility of shifting his cotton sales away from the English markets. With a bit more time and persuasion, Bradley hoped to convince him such a decision would be beneficial for his entire family, as well as all of the Mississippi and Louisiana cotton growers. The Wainwright family was renowned in the South, and Malcolm Wainwright could be a strong ally.
The Associates were anxious for Bradley to move forward with a speed that defied developing the type of associations needed for long-term business relationships. Business was done much more quickly in the North, whereas Southern deals were struck over mint juleps and lazy summer afternoons.
Bradley had learned long ago that pushing a cause too strenuously often resulted in adverse outcomes—in all aspects of life. But nowhere was this truer than with Southern gentlemen, and Malcolm Wainwright seemed no exception to this rule. Bradley was willing to move at a more respectable pace if it meant accomplishing his goal in the end. After all, he didn’t want to frighten off the patriarch of the Wainwright family before their business relationship had even commenced.
And then there was the matter of Jasmine. He would be extremely cautious in that regard. The girl was young and likely to object to any advances from him. What little he had tried to coax from her in conversation seemed completely void of depth and understanding. But he reminded himself that she had led a very sheltered life and that someone of his worldly knowledge was no doubt a threat to genteel sensibilities. Still, she had been quite spirited while associating with Nolan and his literary friends during the evening, which he found somewhat disquieting. Especially since she had been as frightened as a church mouse when he escorted her home from the Cheevers, careful to keep a safe distance between them and running into the house the moment he helped her out of the carriage.
You aren’t a handsome man, Bradley chided himself between sips of coffee. He knew his features were considered by some to be quite stern, even imposing. He wasn’t a very tall man, standing only five and eight, but his square jaw and penetrating gray eyes had managed to cower many an adversary. There was, as some said, a look of determination, even unto seeing the last man fall before giving up. Bradley rather liked that people considered this of him. It made them cautious in saying no to him. Of course, Malcolm Wainwright was not as naïve as some. He was the type of man, in fact, that was sure to smell a bad deal before it ever reached the table.
A shadow passed across the window in front of him, and Bradley glanced up to see Wainwright enter the building. ‘‘I didn’t notice your carriage,’’ Bradley remarked as the man seated himself.
‘‘I walked. It’s a lovely morning, and everything is close at hand here in Lowell. As a matter of fact, I find it rather refreshing that I can leave Mother’s front door and walk downtown in such short order. The town is quite compactly organized.’’
‘‘Indeed it is. In fact, that very concept is what the Associates envisioned when planning this community. I believe they were very successful in most aspects.’’
‘‘I’m looking forward to touring the mills and seeing the remainder of the town. Of course, a man like myself could never live in these close surroundings, but I can certainly admire the thought and effort that was required for an endeavor such as this.’’
The men paused as a waiter placed a cup of coffee in front of Malcolm.
‘‘Before you leave, I hope you’ll have opportunity to meet with many of the gentlemen responsible for the achievement of their vision,’’ Bradley commented. ‘‘Kirk Boott was the man who was originally in charge of managing construction of the mills, boardinghouses, and canals, and then the Associates determined he was the best man to remain in Lowell and direct the day-to-day operations as well. Until his death nine years ago, Kirk remained a viable leader, although he had begun grooming Matthew Cheever many years earlier. At the time of Kirk’s death, Matthew was well positioned to take his mentor’s place.’’
‘‘Sounds as though Boott handpicked him, so it would be my guess he’s well suited to the job. His interest in the Wainwright cotton is flattering. It’s always encouraging to know that others value your work.’’
‘‘I think you’d find that all of the Boston Associates value the commitment and hard work of cotton producers. While we realize the textile industry is dependent upon cotton, I doubt you’d find any one of us willing to assume the daily rigors or risks associated with planting and harvesting a huge cotton crop each year.’’
A satisfied smile spread across Wainwright’s lips. He appeared pleased by Bradley’s accolades, so Bradley determined to use the situation to best advantage. ‘‘If I might change the subject for a moment, I might say that I find Jasmine to be an engaging young woman.’’ He paused as the waiter put a plate of food in front of each of them. ‘‘I’d like your permission to call upon her while you’re visiting in Lowell.’’
Wainwright’s eyes narrowed slightly at the request. ‘‘We won’t be here long, and I specifically brought her to visit with her grandmother. Don’t misunderstand, Bradley. I have no objection to you as a suitor, although I always presumed my only daughter would marry one of our Southern boys. Still, it’s a matter of timing. You do understand?’’
‘‘Yes, of course, but I had hoped you would remain in Lowell until the end of summer.’’
‘‘My mother’s health is much better than I had anticipated.
Consequently, I’d like to return to the plantation before the first picking. Perhaps there will be another opportunity in the future that will prove mutually acceptable.’’
Bradley nodded in agreement and they made small talk as they finished their breakfast. Bradley placed his napkin on the table. ‘‘If you’re still interested in a tour, I think we should be on our way.’’
By carriage, their trip to the Appleton Mill took only a matter of minutes, during which time Bradley pointed out the numerous mills and boardinghouses as they passed by.
Matthew Cheever stood near the front gate awaiting their arrival. ‘‘Gentlemen. Good to see you,’’ he greeted. ‘‘I’m anxious to show you at least one of our mills, Mr. Wainwright. Why don’t we begin in the counting building,’’ he said, leading the way toward the one-story brick structure. ‘‘The girls working in this area trim, fold, and prepare our cloth for shipment,’’ he explained, pointing across the room. ‘‘We maintain the time cards, pay records, and accounts of the Corporation in our office adjacent to the counting room.’’
As they walked into the yard area, Bradley noticed Wainwright move toward the huge loads of baled cotton. ‘‘Appears you’ve got yourselves quite a bit of cotton to turn into cloth,’’ he said with a smile.
‘‘Absolutely. Once a bale is opened, the cotton is picked and cleaned on the large machinery over on that side of the room,’’ Matthew said as they walked into a larger building. ‘‘From there it goes to those monstrous carding machines.’’
‘‘That’s quite a leap from the handheld carding tools we still use at the plantation. My wife has always enjoyed spinning her own yarn,’’ Wainwright added.
‘‘If you’d like to see our spinning and weaving machines, they’re in these other buildings. We’ll have to climb several flights of stairs,’’ Matthew warned.
‘‘I had best see it all so I can explain it to my brothers. And I’m sure my wife would be interested to hear about that carding machine too.’’
Matthew led them back across the mill yard and up the enclosed stairway until they stood in front of the door to the third floor. ‘‘We have drawing and spinning machines in separate areas on this floor. As you can already hear, it’s very noisy. The long slivers from the carding machines are stretch
ed until the cotton ropes are about two inches thick on the drawing machines. Those fragile ropes go to the roving machine, where they are drawn out and lengthened still further and given a slight twist,’’ he explained before escorting them inside.
The men jumped aside as two young bobbin girls came scurrying through, pushing their carts of bobbins in opposite directions. Once the aisle cleared, they made their way slowly through the machinery before returning to the stairwell.
‘‘An entire floor is given over to the weaving looms,’’ Matthew said. ‘‘We’ll go and see those if you’re up to the noise.’’
Malcolm Wainwright gave an enthusiastic nod, and Bradley relaxed a modicum. The older man appeared to be impressed with what he had seen thus far. Once he actually realized the vastness of the Associates’ holdings and the fact that this was but one mill among their myriad of brick buildings daily converting raw cotton into cloth, he surely would want to align himself with their empire.
‘‘Have you traveled to England?’’ Bradley inquired after they bid Matthew good-bye and were traveling down a street that fronted the most advantageous view of the mills.
‘‘No, I can’t say that I have—although my father made two trips during his lifetime. I must admit, the sights of Lowell are not what he described having seen in England. He spoke harshly of both the working and living conditions. It appears that having farm girls work in the mills and constructing this paternalistic community around your business was a stroke of genius.’’
‘‘Certainly not my stroke of genius. However, I take great pride in being associated with these men and their ability to take a giant step in the industrialization of this country. Do you think your brothers might be persuaded to come and see exactly what we’re doing here in Lowell? That it might help convince them that the Wainwright cotton could be put to better use among Americans rather than Englishmen?’’
‘‘My brothers are reasonable men, and we’ve always been willing to support this country in her expansion so long as we didn’t place our family’s financial growth at risk in the process.’’
Bradley tightened his hand on the reins and carefully measured his words. ‘‘After seeing the amount of capital invested in this community, do you think you and your brothers might consider making Lowell the primary market for your cotton?’’
Wainwright turned, his visage serious. ‘‘I couldn’t speak for my brothers, but when I return home, I would be willing to tell them what I’ve seen here. They would be pleased to hear they could get a better price in Massachusetts than England, but that doesn’t mean they’ll want to cease doing business in England.’’
Bradley rubbed his forehead. ‘‘Then what will it take?’’
‘‘Guarantees. We’ve been doing business in England for many years. Accordingly, there’s a level of trust and comfort in our relationship. Even though you can promise us higher prices this year, they may plummet by next season.’’
‘‘That could happen in England also,’’ Bradley argued.
‘‘Not to the extent you might think. My father was able to barter an agreement whereby our prices could fall only by a given percentage if market prices dropped. We never experienced the huge losses suffered by other growers when prices deflated. With you, we have no guarantees and no trust.’’
Bradley was ill prepared for Wainwright’s revelation and struggled briefly to gain his momentum. ‘‘I can’t promise you percentage guarantees without the approval of the Associates any more than you can promise me all of the Wainwright cotton without your brothers’ consent. But if you will give me percentage guidelines, I will speak to the Associates about such an arrangement on your behalf, just as you have agreed to speak to your brothers about changing their market to Lowell. Regarding the trust issue, I hadn’t planned to discuss this with you so soon, but I now feel compelled to do so. As I mentioned earlier today, I hoped you would favor me with permission to call upon your daughter. My hope had been that one day you might consider me a suitable husband for Jasmine. I believe our marriage would seal the future with a level of trust and commitment that even your English associates cannot provide.’’ Bradley cleared his throat, uncertain whether the words he would next offer would be impressive to the older man or completely irrelevant. ‘‘And lest you think me without feeling, I must say that I have been smitten with your daughter since our first meeting. She would not be without love and affection.’’
Wainwright leaned back against the carriage seat, rubbed his jowl several times, and then nodded his head up and down. ‘‘I believe this might work. We’ve not made any promises other than to do our best toward reaching a mutually satisfactory arrangement that will prove financially beneficial to all concerned.’’
‘‘Except the English,’’ Bradley said with a wry grin. ‘‘What of Jasmine? Do you think she will object? After all, she barely knows me.’’
‘‘Most Southern women think they have a hand in choosing their marriage partners, but truth be known, few of them do. As I mentioned, it’s all a question of timing, but perhaps these matters can be helped along. It might bode well for Jasmine to remain in Lowell when I return to Mississippi. I’ll tell her I think her grandmother may still be ailing and also stress to her that a season in the North might better round out her education. Jasmine won’t object to remaining with my mother. While she’s in Lowell, you can call upon her, letting her believe this is a matter of romance. If I know my mother, she’ll have Jasmine at every social event given in a twenty-mile radius.
‘‘If our business arrangements are successful, you can move forward with the marriage, and Jasmine will be none the wiser. If our business arrangements go sour, you can cease calling upon her and declare you’ve lost interest due to her youth.’’
Bradley viewed Malcolm Wainwright with a new admiration.
He had misjudged him—thought him weak where his only daughter was concerned. This man was much more cunning than even Bradley would have imagined. Definitely not a man to be taken lightly in business negotiations.
‘‘Look, Grandmother. Papa and Mr. Houston are getting out of a carriage just up the street.’’ Jasmine waved her closed parasol overhead until her father finally caught sight of them.
‘‘What an unexpected pleasure,’’ Bradley said as they approached, his gaze riveted upon Jasmine.
‘‘Have you ladies been having any success with your shopping expedition?’’ Malcolm pleasantly inquired.
‘‘As a matter of fact, we have. However, we were going to stop for a cup of tea. Would you gentlemen care to join us?’’ Alice asked.
‘‘Of course,’’ Bradley replied before Jasmine’s father could object.
Bradley beamed her a smile that instantly set Jasmine’s heart pounding. What was it about this man?
‘‘I want to show you the wonderful gift I’ve found for Mother,’’ Jasmine said as soon as they’d been seated. She carefully unwrapped the brown paper and pulled out a leather-bound volume. ‘‘Look! It’s Lays of My Home and Other Poems by John Green-leaf Whittier. I decided Mother would adore the volume since she admires Mr. Whittier’s writings. The bookstore had a copy of Legends of New-England in Prose and Verse, but I remembered you gave her that volume for Christmas several years ago. I think she will adore it, don’t you?’’
Her father took the book and leafed through the pages. ‘‘I’m certain she will be most pleased, especially since you chose it for her.’’
‘‘Grandmother and I decided it was an absolute necessity to find Mother’s gift today. We’ve been scouring the shops all morning, but our efforts were finally rewarded.’’
‘‘Why the urgency to purchase your gift today?’’ Bradley asked.
‘‘The shops are open every day except Sunday.’’
‘‘Papa is threatening to leave for Mississippi very soon, and I was afraid he would come home this afternoon with our passage secured on the next vessel leaving Boston.’’
‘‘I’ve been giving that matter some ad
ditional thought, Jasmine, and perhaps I was a bit hasty in declaring the restoration of your grandmother’s health. After all, I’m not a physician.’’
Jasmine gave a single clap of her hands. ‘‘We’re going to extend our visit?’’
‘‘No. As you predicted, I’m going to sail on the next ship. You, however, are going to remain here in Lowell with your grandmother.’’
Jasmine and her grandmother exchanged looks of pure delight.
‘‘Truly? It’s almost as though you were listening to our conversation this morning. Were you eavesdropping on us, Papa?’’ Jasmine teased in her lilting Southern drawl.
‘‘No, but I’d be interested to hear what the two of you were planning.’’
‘‘Grandmother suggested you might permit me to remain with her until the end of November, and then the two of us would travel to The Willows and she would stay with us throughout the holidays. Wouldn’t that be grand fun? All of us together again?’’
‘‘Indeed. I think your grandmother has struck upon a very suitable plan—so long as her health permits the voyage.’’
Grandmother Wainwright gave her son a rather sheepish grin and took a sip of her tea. ‘‘I think my health will be much improved by the holidays.’’
‘‘I’m pleased to hear that bit of news, Mother. I shared my plans with Mr. Houston earlier today and he has asked for exclusive permission to call upon Jasmine during her extended visit in Lowell. I have given my hearty consent.’’
Jasmine paled at her father’s remark. Call upon her? The very idea brought back a rush of panicked and bewildered thoughts.
Bradley Houston was no Southern gentleman. If he were to become serious-minded in matters of matrimony, he would never give any thought to living in Mississippi. What could her father possibly be thinking?
Tracie Peterson & Judith Miller - [Lights of Lowell 01] Page 7
