That resolve in mind, Bradley knew he would be on time for his meeting today, no matter the cost or inconvenience. His image with the Associates was of paramount importance, and today’s meeting would likely prove decisive. He tucked Malcolm Wainwright’s letter into his pocket, stepped up into his carriage, and arrived at Matthew Cheever’s office within fifteen minutes. The number of carriages already present startled him, and he once again looked at his watch. The meeting wasn’t due to begin for another ten minutes.
He hurried through the iron gate and across the mill yard toward Matthew’s office. All of the other Associates who had been summoned to the meeting were already assembled in the room when he entered. All eyes turned in his direction. He hadn’t felt this level of discomfort since his primary school days when the instructor would sometimes call upon him unexpectedly.
He took a brief moment to gain his composure before removing his hat. ‘‘Good day, gentlemen.Was the schedule for our meeting changed without my knowledge?’’
‘‘Welcome, Bradley,’’ Matthew greeted. ‘‘No, the time wasn’t changed. I asked the other members to come a half hour early.’’
Bradley waited, but Matthew offered no further explanation, which left him to wonder what the group might have wanted to discuss in his absence. ‘‘I trust I gave you sufficient time to conclude your conversation.’’
‘‘Indeed,’’ Nathan Appleton said. ‘‘What news can you share regarding our friends in the South? Are you making any headway with your negotiations?’’
Bradley reached into his jacket and extracted Wainwright’s recent letter. ‘‘As a matter of fact, I received this letter from Malcolm Wainwright only two days ago. He and his brothers are close to reaching an agreement with us. They sent a refusal to Mr.
Haggarty, their English buyer, with notice they’ll negotiate terms no further. They requested Haggarty’s signature on a refusal to contract. Once they receive the endorsed refusal, they will be prepared to contract with us. The tone of the letter is extremely positive.’’
‘‘That’s excellent news,’’ Nathan commented. ‘‘I don’t think I could be more pleased.’’
Bradley took a moment to bask in Appleton’s accolades before continuing. ‘‘I believe the balance of the letter may prove you wrong on that account. There is even more good news,’’ he said.
‘‘With my strong encouragement, Mr. Wainwright has taken it upon himself to tell other growers about our strong desire to do business with Southern plantation owners throughout Louisiana and Mississippi. There are a number of them who are looking favorably toward conducting business with us if it would prove more lucrative than continuing their current contracts with England. Of course, none of them would yield the amount of cotton that the Wainwrights’ harvest will, but if we can gain control of the area one grower at a time, I’m certain we’ll soon have all the cotton needed to keep our mills operating at maximum capacity. Perhaps it will even signal a time for expansion.’’
Nathan Appleton’s tremendous enthusiasm was beyond expectations. He bounded from his chair and pumped Bradley’s arm in an exaggerated handshake while encouraging the other members to offer their congratulations. ‘‘You see? I told you our earlier meeting was unnecessary. Bradley is worthy of the confidence Matthew and I placed in him.’’
Wilson Harper shifted in his chair. ‘‘I never said he wasn’t worthy of our confidence. I said the reports thus far had not been favorable and I feared the Wainwrights would remain with the English markets. I’m pleased now that Bradley has been able to prove me wrong.’’
‘‘That’s good to hear,’’ Bradley put in. He knew Harper had never been one of his strong supporters, which made his comment even more pleasurable.
‘‘For planning purposes, does Mr. Wainwright say when we may expect to have a signed contract in our hands? Or, for that matter, when do you expect to secure a signed contract with any of these men?’’ Wilson Harper asked with a sanctimonious grin curving his lips.
‘‘I’ll be returning to Mississippi in mid-November and expect we will already be receiving cotton from the Wainwrights by the time I sail. As for the other producers, I believe we’ll have contracts from some of them in the very near future. Others may wait until the Wainwrights have actually begun doing business with us.
However, we will benefit from their contracts even if they sign late in the year. Many of the producers are still harvesting in December and January.’’
‘‘If you’ve secured an agreement with the Wainwrights, why do you find it necessary to return to Mississippi in November?’’
Wilson asked.
Several members turned their attention to Bradley, and he knew he must respond now. Otherwise, the powerful momentum he had gained during the meeting might be lost. ‘‘I’m going to escort Miss Wainwright back to The Willows, where we will be married during the Christmas holidays. I hope that news will put to rest any further concerns you might have, Mr. Harper.’’
There were several surprised gasps, followed by what seemed an interminable silence. Nathan was the first to speak. ‘‘Let me offer my hearty congratulations, Bradley. Miss Wainwright is a beautiful young woman, and I’m certain she’ll make you a fine wife.’’
Eyes sharpened, Robert Woolsey gave Bradley a slow smile.
‘‘And seal his business transactions as well.’’
Bradley wasn’t certain if Woolsey’s remark was filled with scorn or jealousy, but he decided to let the retort pass when Matthew slapped Woolsey on the shoulder and said, ‘‘Sounds as though you’re sorry you didn’t have the wherewithal to win Miss Wainwright’s hand for yourself.’’
Woolsey flushed. ‘‘No offense intended, Bradley. After all, your success swells all of our coffers. Accept my best wishes for your happiness with Miss Wainwright.’’
By the time the meeting ended, Bradley was receiving enthusiastic best wishes from every one of the men in attendance. He departed the meeting with a sense of elation he hadn’t experienced since receiving his father’s business assets, but by the time he arrived home his emotions were as mixed as when he’d been told Nolan would receive his mother’s valuable paintings as his inheritance. Telling the assembled group of Associates that he planned to marry Jasmine Wainwright before advising Jasmine of his intentions and actually having the betrothal approved and announced by her father might prove to be a frivolous mistake.
However, if luck remained with him, neither Malcolm Wainwright nor his daughter would ever become aware of his boastful— and premature—announcement.
CHAPTER • 9
ALICE SETTLED into the church pew with Jasmine at her side. Her granddaughter was busy looking over the crowd assembling in the old Pawtucket church, where antislavery meetings had been conducted for more than fifteen years. The church soon filled to capacity, and many of the attendees were forced to stand in the aisles or out in the churchyard.
There were two speakers, both freed slaves who spoke to the gathering of their work with Frederick Douglass and William Lloyd Garrison. When they finished their short speeches, it was Nolan Houston who called out from the back of the room and asked them to tell the crowd how they had gained freedom.
The slave who called himself George moved forward on the small stage. ‘‘It was de hand of God what moved in a mighty way to give us our freedom, for our master was cruel and so was his missus. We’s got de scars to show for his mean streak. One day some Quakers come through Virginia, and dey stopped and asked if the master could spare a cool drink. Dem Quakers stayed and talked and talked to the master and his missus.
‘‘Dey stayed for three days, talking and praying until they finally convinced our owner it was de right thing to emancipate his slaves. So de master and his missus, dey decided dey was gonna sell their place and move off to Ohio and earn dem a living by working with they own hands. Dey told us all we was free to go on our way. We thought it was a trick until de Quakers told us about de praying they’d been doin’ for days. Even so, we ’spected de dog
s to come huntin’ us down. But dey never did. Don’ know what happened to any of dem white folk. Ain’t never see’d ’em since den. I ain’t never looked back, but I’m mighty thankful for dem Quaker folk.’’
The two former slaves talked awhile longer, answering questions and removing their shirts to reveal the angry scars of abuse— scars that spoke louder than any words they might utter. The entire crowd seemed to groan in unison as the men told of iron shackles, bullpens, and stocks being used to punish slaves.
Jasmine nudged her grandmother. ‘‘I know all these people are abolitionists, but do they not realize there are many slaves who are well treated and happy?’’
Alice arched her eyebrows. ‘‘And where would that be?’’
Jasmine stared at her grandmother in disbelief. ‘‘Why, at any Wainwright plantation.’’
‘‘Do you believe the slaves at The Willows are content with their lot in life, Jasmine?’’
‘‘Of course they are. They are well cared for. Happy. Content.
They love us.’’
‘‘You need not continue to defend your opinion. I’m not going to argue with you, dear, but why did you want to come to this meeting if you disagree with abolition?’’
Jasmine fidgeted with her gloves. ‘‘I wanted to hear their views, but I didn’t expect the speeches to be inflammatory. I think they should temper such talk by explaining there are slave owners who treat their people exceedingly well.’’
Alice smiled at her granddaughter but said nothing. She’d not enter into a disagreement that might cause Jasmine to discuss this gathering with her father at a later date. She sighed, knowing Jasmine had been sheltered from the realities of life on the plantation.
Alice tried not to fret about the matter, but an uneasiness hung over her like a foreboding of tragedy to come. Now she was certain she’d made a mistake. She should have followed Martha’s advice and remained at home.
The meeting broke up a short time later. Had Alice been there alone, she might have lingered to revisit some of the evening’s discussion with her friends. Now all she wanted to do was depart before Jasmine managed to get drawn into some of the more heated arguments. With an authoritative, no-nonsense air, Alice moved Jasmine to the door.
‘‘Why are we leaving so quickly, Grandmother? Is something wrong?’’ Jasmine questioned as they descended the stairs.
‘‘The night air can cause us both to take sick,’’ Alice replied, linking her arm with her granddaughter’s. ‘‘Besides, Martha has promised to have fresh cinnamon scones ready for our evening tea.
You haven’t yet tasted her special recipe. They are quite delightful.’’
Jasmine seemed easily placated with this response. Alice almost felt sorry for the girl. Her innocence made it simpler for Alice to explain away their departure, but her ignorance of the truth was distressful.
They were but a short distance from the church when Alice noticed Nolan Houston walking toward them with a quizzical look on his face. ‘‘Good evening, ladies. I must say I was surprised to see you in attendance, Miss Wainwright. What brings a Southern belle to an antislavery meeting?’’
‘‘I was curious, anxious to expand my knowledge.’’
‘‘And does my brother know you were in attendance this evening?’’ He flashed her a broad smile as if already knowing the answer.
Alice stepped forward and took Nolan’s arm. ‘‘No, he doesn’t, Nolan. And I would be most appreciative if you didn’t mention seeing us. I fear I took it upon myself to bring Jasmine without seeking her father’s approval. I beg your indulgence in this matter.’’
Nolan’s smile faded. ‘‘Of course, Mrs. Wainwright. I would never betray your confidence.’’
Alice breathed a sigh of relief. The handsome young man seemed to easily understand her plight without forcing her to give further explanation. ‘‘Thank you. And if I may be of assistance to you in the future, you have only to ask.’’
He nodded. ‘‘I understand the delicacy of the situation.’’ Turning his attention to Jasmine, he said, ‘‘I hope you found the meeting informative, Miss Wainwright.’’
‘‘I thought the presentation rather one-sided. As I was telling my grandmother, there are many slaves who are happy and well cared for. In fact, we have such slaves on the Wainwright plantations.’’
‘‘That’s good to hear. For when I toured your plantation, I failed to ask the slaves I saw whether they were happy. Of course, most of them were out in the fields laboring in the relentless heat, but when I again visit The Willows, I’ll make it a point to inquire.’’
Jasmine frowned at his seemingly flippant reply. ‘‘You need only ask Mammy. She’ll tell you how happy she’s been living with us.’’
Alice cleared her throat. ‘‘We really must be going home. We have a full day tomorrow. The Ladies’ Society from the church is meeting at my house.’’
‘‘Certainly,’’ Nolan said graciously while tipping his hat.
Once they were settled in the carriage and Martin flicked the reins, Alice took Jasmine’s hand in her own. ‘‘The meeting tonight is not something you should mention publicly, my dear, even with those who were in attendance. Caution is the best practice.’’
Jasmine arched her thin, perfectly shaped eyebrows. ‘‘So tomorrow I’m not to speak of having been at tonight’s meeting? Is that what you want me to understand, Grandmother?’’
‘‘No need to take umbrage. I make this request of anyone I take to the meetings. Those who attend the antislavery meetings have an expectation their confidentiality will not be breached. I’m asking no more of you than I request from any of my other guests.’’
Jasmine bowed her head. ‘‘I’m sorry. I’m acting like a spoiled child after you were kind enough to take me to the meeting. My lips are sealed. You have my word.’’
‘‘Thank you, dear. I knew I could count on you.’’
But even with her granddaughter’s promise, Alice Wainwright could not settle her discomfort. She could hardly explain her situation to Jasmine. How could she hope for her granddaughter to understand that the very institution that put jewels around her throat and silks on her back was the very nightmare Alice had turned her back on when she returned to live in the North? No, there would be no easy way to explain the matter. To Jasmine, life on the plantation was leisurely afternoons reading and sewing—it was tender care by Mammy, who had raised the girl since infancy—it was a facade of a utopia that didn’t exist.
But I won’t be the one to open her eyes to the truth, Alice thought uncomfortably. She’ll see it for herself soon enough. She’s an adult now, and while protected, Jasmine is no dolt. She’ll learn the truth.
‘‘And the truth shall make you free,’’ a voice whispered deep in her heart.
‘‘But the truth is often very hard to take,’’ she responded quietly.
Jasmine looked up and smiled. ‘‘What did you say, Grandmother?’’
Alice shook her head and patted her granddaughter’s hand.
‘‘Just the mutterings of an old woman. Nothing of import.’’ But in her heart, Alice knew better. It was possibly the most important lesson Jasmine would ever learn.
Jasmine stood beside her grandmother while affably greeting their guests the next afternoon. The ladies flocked into the house in their plumed hats and silk carriage dresses as though they were attending the social event of the season rather than a meeting of the Ladies’ Society.
Violet grasped Jasmine by the arm and pulled her away from the crowd. ‘‘Did you enjoy the meeting last night?’’
Jasmine cocked her head and met Violet’s intense gaze. ‘‘What meeting?’’
‘‘The antislavery meeting, silly. I saw you there with your grandmother.’’
‘‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’’ Jasmine insisted.
Violet placed her fingertips to her lips. ‘‘Oh, I understand.
You’re holding fast to the privacy rules. But it doesn’t matter if y
ou talk to me—after all, I was in attendance too. However, I must admit that I was quite surprised to see you at the meeting. What did you think after hearing those poor slaves talk about how they were mistreated? And those dreadful scars on their backs—did you look at them?’’
Jasmine chewed on her lip and strengthened her resolve. She would keep her word. ‘‘Would you like a cup of punch? It’s really quite good. I tasted it earlier.’’
Violet sighed and folded her arms across her chest. ‘‘Well, then, let’s talk about your wedding. I’m surprised you’ve remained in Massachusetts. Is your mother making all the plans for your nuptials without you? I would much prefer to plan my own wedding when I get married.’’
Jasmine’s soft laughter floated through the room. ‘‘Nuptials?
I’m not getting married. Wherever did you get such a preposterous idea?’’
‘‘My father told us at breakfast this morning. If you don’t believe me, ask my mother.’’
Jasmine clamped on to Violet’s arm and pulled her out the stained-glass doors leading into the garden. ‘‘Exactly what did your father say?’’ Dread rushed over her like a cold, damp breeze.
Violet’s gaze was riveted upon the fingers digging into her flesh. ‘‘You’re hurting my arm.’’
Jasmine loosened her hold but didn’t turn the girl free. ‘‘Tell me what your father said about marriage plans. I don’t even have a suitor.’’
‘‘Of course you do,’’ Violet retorted, shaking free. ‘‘Bradley Houston! He’s been your constant escort since you arrived in Lowell. Although, personally, I find his brother much more appealing. He has the loveliest eyes—don’t you think?’’
‘‘Is Bradley who you’re talking about?’’ Jasmine placed her hand on her chest and sighed in relief. ‘‘Bradley’s not my beau. He escorts me as a matter of convenience and safety—at my father’s request.’’
‘‘Really?’’ the fourteen-year-old questioned. ‘‘Well, my father said that Mr. Houston would be escorting you back to Mississippi in mid-November and the two of you would be married during the Christmas holidays. Perhaps your father has requested more of Mr. Houston than you realize.’’
Tracie Peterson & Judith Miller - [Lights of Lowell 01] Page 9
