Tracie Peterson & Judith Miller - [Lights of Lowell 01]

by A Tapestry of Hope

  Jasmine nodded her agreement, ignored Kiara’s disapproving look, and added two bottles of elixir to the pile of lace-making supplies. ‘‘Now let’s go look over the materials for your new dresses.’’ Kiara followed Jasmine across the store.

  ‘‘Why, Mrs. Brighton,’’ Jasmine exclaimed as she turned a corner. ‘‘I’ve not had a chance to speak with you since returning to Lowell.’’

  Elinor Brighton smiled in greeting, but her eyes remained filled with grief. ‘‘Yes, it has been quite some time. How are you?’’

  ‘‘I’m doing well, thank you for asking.’’ Jasmine turned to Kiara. ‘‘This is Kiara O’Neill. She’s working for us now.’’

  Kiara curtsied. ‘‘Pleased to meet ya, ma’am.’’

  ‘‘Thank you.’’

  ‘‘Kiara makes lace,’’ Jasmine said, anxious for something else to say. ‘‘We’ve come for supplies.’’

  ‘‘I learned to tat a bit when I was a girl,’’ Elinor told them.

  ‘‘I’m sure I’ve forgotten much of what I learned for lack of practice.’’ ‘‘No doubt it would come back to ya, ma’am.’’

  Elinor seemed to consider the statement. ‘‘Yes, you are probably right.’’ She sighed and looked once again to Jasmine. ‘‘I must be on my way. I do bid you have a good day, Mrs. Houston.’’

  ‘‘And you, Mrs. Brighton.’’

  Jasmine waited until Elinor had exited the store before turning to Kiara. ‘‘There is a sad soul to be sure. She has lost two husbands in a short span of time, and she has not even one child to offer her comfort in their passing.’’

  ‘‘Poor thing. She’s quite a beauty, even in her sorrow,’’ Kiara said softly.

  ‘‘Yes, she is,’’ Jasmine agreed, thinking how tragic that Elinor should so pine for her dead husband while Jasmine could barely endure the sight of Bradley.

  ‘‘There’ll be no comfort for her,’’ Kiara said, shaking her head.

  ‘‘Me ma was that way when Da passed on. He took her broken heart to the grave, same as Mrs. Brighton’s husband has done for her.’’

  Jasmine felt strangely sad to know that such a thing would never be her fate with Bradley. Bradley would never break her heart—because she’d never give it to him in the first place.

  Over the past three days, Bradley had diligently worked on the accounts in his Boston shipping office and was thankful the Associates were assembling for dinner this evening before commencement of the series of meetings scheduled over the next few days.

  He was in desperate need of a diversion from the tiresome columns of numbers. Not that his time hadn’t been well spent. The accounts of Bradley’s oceangoing business now reflected the company’s profits and losses over the past six months—at least in the manner in which he desired to have them appear. There remained a number of documents that required his attention, but he would attend to those after his meetings with the Associates had concluded. He slipped into his waistcoat and checked his appearance in the mirror. Passable, he decided, for a dinner meeting in the hostelry. He walked down the wide staircase of the newly constructed hotel, thankful both the dinner and meeting would be held in the dining room of the facility.

  He waved a greeting to Matthew Cheever and James Morgan, who were entering the door as he reached the foyer. ‘‘Gentlemen, good to see you. I trust your journey from Lowell was pleasant.’’

  ‘‘We looked for you on the train,’’ Matthew said. ‘‘You must have come in earlier this morning.’’

  ‘‘I arrived several days ago—business with my shipping company that needed attention,’’ he explained. ‘‘We might as well go into the dining room and see if any of the others have arrived.

  Personally, I could use a glass of port.’’

  Bradley gave James a gentle poke in the side as they entered the dining room. ‘‘Looks like quite a few of our members were anxious for a glass of port.’’

  ‘‘Either that or anxious to solicit one another’s votes on impending issues,’’ James said.

  ‘‘Speaking of concerns, I’m hoping you’ll join with me when Robert Woolsey begins pushing for more railroads.’’

  ‘‘I didn’t realize Robert was going to become a strong proponent for additional rail lines.’’

  ‘‘It only stands to reason. He and Tracy Jackson were the strongest proponents of the railroad from the very start. Now, with Tracy’s death, he’ll likely propose increased railroad usage as some sort of memorial for him. I’m certain he’ll think such a concept will garner sympathy votes. Of course, you and I know the only reason he’ll be pushing the railroad is because he’s so heavily invested.’’

  James peered over the top of his wire-rimmed spectacles.

  ‘‘We’re all a bit self-serving, aren’t we, Bradley? Besides, with Nathan now partial owner of a shipping line, I’m sure he’ll be swaying the members in a direction that will please you.’’

  ‘‘Perhaps, but I’ve grown to believe some of the men have begun to vote in opposition to Nathan for that very reason—they believe his holdings surpass the rest of them, and they’ve grown jealous of his powerful position.’’

  ‘‘You could be correct, although I’ve not heard such talk. If you’ll excuse me, I want to have a word with Leonard.’’

  Bradley watched James walk off and then surveyed the room in an attempt to decide which group of men might be won over to his position. Matthew Cheever was with a small conclave that might possibly shed some light on the evening’s agenda. He wended his way through the crowd, stopping to shake hands and exchange civilities with several men along the way. He was only an arm’s length away from Matthew when they were summoned to dinner.

  Unfortunately, he found himself lodged between two lesser-distinguished Associates. However, instead of becoming disheartened, he used the time advantageously, quickly assessing their views and lobbying their support. By the time the meeting began, he was convinced they would support anything he proposed throughout the meeting. And after several hours of heated argument regarding railroads and seagoing vessels, Bradley was certain he would need their votes.

  Bradley’s evening of diversion was hastily turning into a nightmare. Feeling he could take no more of the avid support for rail usage, he jumped up from his chair and waved his arm high in the air.

  Matthew Cheever gave him a look of exasperation. ‘‘I believe we’ve all heard your opinion on this issue, Bradley. I’d like to move forward and call for a vote.’’

  ‘‘Before you do, I believe there are a few matters the members should hear.’’

  ‘‘Very well.’’ Matthew motioned for him to come to the front and take the floor.

  ‘‘As many of you are aware, I have been diligently working to provide our mills with ample cotton to continue production at a steady pace. Much of that cotton comes from the Wainwright plantations; those contracts were implemented with the understanding that the cotton would be shipped on vessels belonging to me or other members of the Boston Associates at a reduced rate. I redirect your attention to this fact because I’m assured that if my wife’s family should be required to pay higher prices for shipping their goods, they would consider their contracts invalid and likely return to the English marketplace.’’

  Murmurs of dissension could be heard throughout the room.

  ‘‘Sounds like you’re using the family cotton as a bartering tool!’’ one of the men near the back of the room called out.

  Bradley rested his hands upon the table and leaned forward toward the crowd with his jaw tightly clenched. ‘‘I’m merely telling you the facts.’’

  Matthew stood and called for silence while motioning the men to be seated. ‘‘There’s no need to resort to mayhem. We’ll resolve nothing by shouting angry accusations. Bradley wanted us to make an informed decision based upon facts that weren’t previously known to us. He ought not be the recipient of your anger merely because he’s related to the Wainwrights.’’

  ‘‘Thank you, Matthew, for your su
pport,’’ Bradley said.

  ‘‘I didn’t mean to imply my support, Bradley. I’m merely offering an explanation.’’

  But apparently his words, along with Nathan’s long-winded speech about the cost of additional railroads when ships were already available, had a positive effect upon the men. When the vote was finally taken, the tally was in favor of transporting by ship whenever possible.

  Several days later, as Bradley sat in the office of his shipping business, a pleasurable smile crossed his lips. Things had gone very well for him during this journey. He leaned back in his chair thinking of the dark-haired Irish girl at home—thoughts he knew he ought not be having.

  ‘‘I’ll be back later this afternoon,’’ he told the clerk sitting near the door.

  He hailed a carriage near the docks and instructed the driver to stop in the business district. After passing several shops, he entered a store specializing in ladies’ apparel. When he left the store a short time later, he carried a carefully wrapped blue silk robe under his arm.

  ‘‘Perhaps she’ll be less inclined to move away from me when she sees what I can offer her in return for her affections,’’ Bradley murmured to himself.

  CHAPTER • 20

  KIARA PULLED Paddy close, her fingers digging into the flesh of his arm. ‘‘Ya’re hurting me, Kiara.’’ He squirmed, trying to gain his freedom.

  ‘‘Do ya not realize the consequences of what happened today, Padraig?’’

  ‘‘Aye, but ’twas a mistake, and the horse has only a small cut on his leg. I do na think the master will even notice. Besides, it may be healed before his return.’’

  ‘‘Ya best be hopin’ that horse is good as the day Master Bradley left this house or that he does na come near the barn. I do na want him gettin’ so angry he sells yar papers. I could na bear to have ya taken away from me.’’

  ‘‘What else can I say? I did na want the horse to run off and I know I should have made certain the stall was closed. I truly thought it was, Kiara. Ya know I love those horses, and I do na want anything bad to ’appen to them.’’

  ‘‘And I do na want anything bad happenin’ to you, so you best be checkin’ those gates two times instead of one,’’ she warned.

  ‘‘I’ll go out and put some more liniment on his leg and make sure he’s doing all right. Do na worry so much, Kiara.’’

  She watched her brother run out the door with his flat cap pulled low over his eyes and his legs flying helter-skelter like a young colt let loose in the pasture. The thought of a future without Paddy was unbearable. Without warning, unbidden tears coursed down her cheeks, and she gave way to the insurmountable sadness that daily filled her. The show of strength she exhibited for her brother’s sake crumpled in her solitude, and she wept bitter tears.

  ‘‘Is it so terrible living here that you are reduced to this level of grief?’’ Jasmine asked.

  Kiara lifted her head and attempted a smile. ‘‘I do na mean to seem ungrateful. I’m thankful for yar goodness to me. But I do na know what will happen to Paddy should Master Bradley discover his fancy horse escaped and was running wild for two days—and if that cut does na heal, I fear Master Bradley will sell Paddy’s papers of servitude to someone else. I could na live without me brother.’’ The words caused her tears to flow once again.

  ‘‘You know I would never permit such a thing to happen. If my husband even suggests such a notion, I will vehemently protest his action.’’

  ‘‘Thank you, missus. But we both know that if Master Bradley makes up his mind, there’s nothing anyone can do that will stop him.’’

  ‘‘But I would try,’’ Jasmine vowed. ‘‘We’ll hope he never finds out about the incident.’’

  Kiara wiped her nose and attempted to cease the hiccuping that had laid claim and was jolting her body with merciless spasms.

  ‘‘Why don’t you and Paddy take some time and go visit your friend Bridgett? I’m sure she’d be delighted to see you, and on a Sunday afternoon she’ll not be working. Visiting Bridgett will take your mind off your sorrows.’’

  Kiara brightened at the suggestion. She’d seen Bridgett only once since her arrival, and then it had been for only a short time.

  Bridgett had managed to find the Houston home and had walked from the Acre to see Kiara and Paddy. That had been only two weeks after they arrived in Lowell. She’d made the visit and told Kiara she’d be starting work at the mills the next day and wouldn’t have much time for visiting. Kiara wondered how she liked her new job.

  ‘‘That would be ever so nice. I’d like to go visitin’.’’

  ‘‘Good! We’ll take a carriage, and I’ll visit with Grandmother while you and Paddy go to the Acre. You can come to Grandmother’s when you’ve finished your visit, and we’ll return home.

  How does that sound?’’

  Kiara beamed. ‘‘That would be grand, ma’am. I’ll go out to the barn and fetch Paddy. He’ll be needin’ to scrub up a wee bit.’’

  ‘‘If you’d tell Charles to bring the carriage around once he’s hitched the horses, that will save us some time.’’

  ‘‘Yes, ma’am,’’ Kiara called over her shoulder as she raced out of the house.

  Kiara and Paddy jumped down from the carriage when they neared the Acre. ‘‘Just follow that street and ask anyone you see if they know your friend,’’ Charles instructed. ‘‘All the residents of the Acre know each other.’’

  Kiara took Paddy by the hand and led him through the row of run-down shanties, stopping the first person who looked in her direction. ‘‘I’m lookin’ for Bridgett Farrell. She lives with her cousin, Rogan Sheehan, and her granna Murphy.’’

  The woman pointed down the street. ‘‘Turn right at the end of the street. Third door on the left.’’

  ‘‘Thank ya, soul, and God go with ya,’’ Kiara said, hurrying off toward their destination. ‘‘Oh, Paddy, I do hope Bridgett’s home.

  We’re not likely to soon get this chance again.’’

  Paddy grinned and danced down the street ahead of her, twirling about to face Kiara. ‘‘She’ll be there. I can feel it in me bones.’’

  He turned the corner and ran to the door, knocking several times.

  Kiara had reached his side when Bridgett opened the door.

  ‘‘I can na believe me Irish eyes. Kiara O’Neill, get yarself in here and meet me granna Murphy and set a spell. My cousin’s gone out to enjoy his Sunday afternoon, but I stayed home with Granna. She has a touch of the gout and needs a bit o’ help. I’ll put on the kettle, and ya can tell me for sure about life in yar big mansion, and I’ll tell ya about life in the Acre and workin’ in the mills. Michael O’Donnell lives next door, Paddy. He’s about yar age. Get over and meet him. Tell him Bridgett sent ya.’’

  Once Paddy had gone and Bridgett finished brewing a pot of tea, she sat down with Kiara. ‘‘Are ya happy and are they treatin’ ya well at yar big house?’’

  ‘‘The missus is very kind. She’s not much older than me. She lived far away from here on a big farm of some kind until she married the master. She misses her home and family just like I miss Ireland, so we’ve lots in common.’’

  Granna Murphy appeared to be asleep on the small cot across the room, but Kiara leaned close to Bridgett just in case she might not be sleeping soundly. She didn’t want the old woman to hear what she was going to say. ‘‘Master Bradley’s another kettle o’ fish.

  I do na like the way he looks at me, Bridgett. He frightens me.’’

  Bridgett’s eyes widened and filled with concern. ‘‘Ya think he might be one who would try and force ya to his bed?’’

  The sound of Paddy and some other boys playing in the street drifted into the house, causing Kiara to feel even more self-conscious. ‘‘That I do. He has evil in his eyes when he looks in my direction. And his wife is a beauty. He has no reason to be lookin’ elsewhere. She’s gonna give him a wee babe. Ya’d think he’d be content.’’

  ‘‘Maybe that’s why he’s l
ookin’ yar direction. Sometimes when a woman is expectin’, she doesn’t want her husband a botherin’ with ’er.’’

  Kiara shook her head. ‘‘I do na think that’s it. He’s looked at me that way since the first time he laid eyes on me.’’

  ‘‘Just keep yar distance whenever ya can, and tell him ya’ll tell his wife if he’s tryin’ to lay a hand on ya,’’ Bridgett whispered.

  ‘‘I can na tell him that. He’ll sell me papers, and then I’d be separated from Paddy.’’

  ‘‘It’s a bad spot yar in, fer sure, but it was good o’ him to let ya come visit me.’’

  ‘‘He’s gone to Boston. The missus brought us in her carriage and then went to visit her grandmother across town.’’

  ‘‘In her carriage, no less? Well, ain’t ya the fancy one?’’ Bridgett said with a giggle. ‘‘I don’t believe I’ve ever had visitors before who came in a carriage.’’

  ‘‘What are ya hearin’ from Ireland? Is there any relief?’’ Kiara felt desperate for news. She had no one to write to—no one to give her a word of the homeland.

  ‘‘The famine is only gettin’ worse. Folks dyin’ every day from lack of food. It’s lucky we are to be here, Kiara. But the Yankee girls in the mills are complainin’ about the terrible conditions.

  They don’t know what we’ve come from, or they’d be thankin’ the good Lord for the privilege of the pay they receive every week.’’

  ‘‘I heard some of the ladies who come to have tea with the missus talkin’ about troubles in the mills. Do they truly keep those windows nailed down so ya can’t get a breath of fresh air?’’

  Bridgett nodded. ‘‘Aye. But still ’tis better than starvin’ to death in Ireland. They don’t quit their jobs ’cause they know there’s Irish lasses what would take their place the same day. They don’t pay the Irish workers as much as the Yankees, which I do na think is fair, but there’s nothin’ we can do. If we want to keep our jobs, we keep our mouths shut.’’