A Love Woven True

by Judith Miller

‘‘Fine with me,’’ Elinor muttered.

  Daughtie looked in her direction and gave a slight shake of her head before continuing. ‘‘As I mentioned earlier, we’re expecting a number of runaways throughout the winter. Liam and I have reason to believe our farm is being watched. We’re not certain, but we’ve seen enough indication that we must be careful—especially in light of the difficulty with the group that came through earlier this month.’’

  Elinor turned and was met by Nettie’s accusatory gaze. ‘‘Did you know when the last group of runaways was coming through?’’ she hissed.

  ‘‘As a matter of fact, I did,’’ Elinor muttered.

  ‘‘Ladies, please! You are trying my patience,’’ Daughtie admonished.

  ‘‘I didn’t know there was any problem. Why wasn’t I told?’’ Hilda Schultz complained.

  Daughtie briefly massaged her temples. ‘‘There was no need, Hilda. We’ve all agreed that the less discussion regarding particulars, the better. Suffice it to say there were a number of us who were nearly discovered while moving runaways to the next station.

  Now that I’ve explained our problem, I hope there will be a few of you willing to open your homes and become stations for the runaways, at least on a temporary basis. Once we’re certain our house is no longer under surveillance, Liam and I will renew our efforts.’’

  Hilda clasped a hand to her chest. ‘‘After hearing what you’ve related about difficulties with the last group as well as your concerns that you’re being watched, I don’t think I could possibly offer my house. Especially since I’m a widow. Why, I’d have no one to protect me if something went amiss,’’ she said, dabbing a handkerchief to her eye.

  Elinor gazed at Hilda, wondering if the older woman had any notion of her good fortune. Widow or not, Hilda possessed a home and sufficient finances to care for herself. The old woman had never wanted for anything since her husband’s death; she’d never been required to seek employment or consider taking refuge with relatives. Harvey Schultz had been dead for more than ten years, yet Hilda spoke of her widowhood as though her husband had died only a few months earlier. Besides, Hilda should expect widowhood—she was probably every bit of forty and five years. The woman’s behavior stuck in Elinor’s craw like an ill-placed hatpin.

  While Hilda sat in her fine home stitching fancywork, Elinor scrubbed floors and prepared meals for a household of ungrateful girls who were nearly as unappreciative of their good fortune as Hilda Schultz. Elinor watched as the mill girls freely spent their pay on fancy ribbons, fabric, earbobs, and other whims. They attended lyceums and weekly French and music lessons and, of course, there were the gentlemen callers. The girls would descend the stairs with their new hair ribbons and fine dresses to sit in the parlor and bat their eyelashes at one of the mechanics or salesmen who came calling, while Elinor remained in the kitchen washing their dirty dishes and setting bread to rise. And when she was done, she would fall into bed, only to awaken the next morning and begin again. If she were Hilda’s age, perhaps it wouldn’t seem so dreadful. But at twenty and five, her future loomed before her like a long, dark shadow, her youth and beauty fading and then dying a little each day.

  ‘‘It’s settled, then!’’ Daughtie said, startling Elinor back to the present.

  ‘‘Mary and Jacob Robbins’ home will be the new station until Liam is certain our house is safe. You’re certain Jacob is in agreement? I can wait to tell Liam until you’ve had an opportunity to talk with him.’’

  Mary’s lips turned up in a gentle smile. ‘‘Jacob told me that should the need ever arise, I had his permission to offer our home. In fact, we’ve even created a hiding space and have some extra provisions,’’ she announced.

  ‘‘Wonderful!’’ Daughtie exclaimed. ‘‘There’s little doubt God’s hand is at work in this, Mary. Give our thanks to Jacob. And now I’m certain everyone is ready for a cup of tea.’’

  Elinor checked the time on the walnut mantel clock and jumped to her feet. ‘‘If you’ll excuse me, Daughtie, it’s late and I have the evening meal to prepare for the girls. By the time I get home—’’

  ‘‘Please stay. I’m certain there’s someone here who would be happy to take you in her buggy. And if all else fails, Liam will be home in sufficient time to take you home.’’

  ‘‘No, I’d best take my leave. I believe the remainder of your afternoon will be more pleasant if I’m gone. If you’ll get my cape,’’ Elinor insisted while moving toward the foyer.

  She donned her cape and hat while Daughtie enumerated a myriad of reasons why she should remain. ‘‘You know your early departure will merely serve to set tongues wagging.’’

  Elinor secured her hat and turned to face Daughtie. ‘‘Of course! We both realize there must be some exciting topic of conversation at each of these meetings. Today it will be my insufferable behavior and bad manners. I imagine my departure will give Nettie sufficient bravery to actually suggest my expulsion.’’

  ‘‘Then remain and defend yourself,’’ Daughtie urged.

  ‘‘I haven’t the time nor energy. If the group feels I’m untrustworthy or my contribution is insufficient, then I’ll quietly withdraw. I care little what most of them think. However, I want to assure you that I would never do anything to compromise the runaways or anyone who is lending aid on their behalf. However, I realize my comments are sometimes harsh.’’

  ‘‘I hope I’m not overstepping my boundaries, Elinor, but I fear you’re permitting your past difficulties to ruin your future happiness. You are so filled with anger and resentment that you seem to alienate anyone attempting to befriend you. Yet I’m certain that’s not your intent,’’ she said softly.

  Elinor tugged at her kid gloves, carefully adjusting each finger before meeting Daughtie’s concerned gaze. ‘‘Perhaps it’s not my intent, but I have little time for friends, so I see no need to tiptoe around a group of women who have already judged me unworthy of their confidence.’’

  ‘‘Nettie means well. Unfortunately, she’s a bit high-strung and tends to fret overmuch. Both Nettie and Hilda are good women who, like the rest of us, want to help the runaways.’’

  ‘‘Thank you for your kindness, Daughtie, but I must be on my way. I’ve supper to prepare and serve and a multitude of other duties awaiting me.’’

  ‘‘I understand, but please promise you’ll come to the next meeting.’’

  ‘‘We’ll see,’’ she said. ‘‘Please go take care of your guests. I can see myself out the door.’’

  With a smile and brief hug, Daughtie hurried back toward the parlor, and Elinor exited the Donohue home, glad to be back in the fresh air and away from the unpleasant atmosphere. ‘‘They likely think I’m the one with the biting tongue,’’ she chuckled aloud, certain the women had already determined that her quick exit was due to a guilty conscience rather than their own unpleasant attitudes.

  Red and yellow leaves swirled along the path as Elinor trudged toward home with Daughtie’s parting remarks churning about in her head. Obviously Daughtie believed Hilda and Nettie to be kind Christian women with only goodness in their hearts. If so, she was an extremely poor judge of character and much more nai ve than Elinor would have thought.

  ‘‘I suppose we can’t all have the ability to see others clearly,’’ she muttered. The wind stung her cheeks, and she burrowed her head closer to her chest, concentrating on the final leg of her journey.

  When she finally turned the corner and headed down Jackson Street, her face and fingers were nearly numb. ‘‘I should have set aside my pride and accepted Daughtie’s offer of a buggy ride,’’ she chastised herself aloud as she neared the front door of the boardinghouse.

  ‘‘Excuse me?’’

  Elinor gasped and jumped back a step. ‘‘Who are you, and why are you on my doorstep?’’

  ‘‘Oliver Maxwell. My apologies,’’ he said, bowing and sweeping his hat in front of him in an exaggerated gesture. ‘‘I didn’t mean to startle you, good lady.’’
<
br />   It took only a moment for Elinor to notice his case. ‘‘You’re a peddler, I see. Obviously you know the girls haven’t returned from work yet. No guests and no salesmen until after supper—house rules.’’

  He stroked his narrow blond mustache. ‘‘I’m a shoe salesman,’’ he replied, clearly not bothered by the sharp, cold wind. ‘‘Frequently the girls keep me busy when I come calling in the evening, and I don’t have an opportunity to visit the boardinghouse keepers. Consequently, I decided to make some early calls while I’m in Lowell for that very purpose. A good pair of shoes is a necessity in cold weather, and winter will soon be here.’’

  ‘‘It feels as though winter has already arrived. I really must go indoors. If you want to return at eight o’clock, there should be any number of girls anxious to purchase a new pair of shoes.’’

  ‘‘And you, dear lady? Could I not interest you in a pair of shoes? I’d be delighted to take your measurements before the girls return home, and then I’ll be on my way.’’

  He was charming with his blond hair, wool frock coat, and proper manners, but Elinor really couldn’t afford a pair of new shoes. She couldn’t afford even a new ribbon. ‘‘It’s the mill girls who have money to spend on themselves, not the keepers,’’ she replied.

  He nodded and smiled, radiating a kindness she’d not seen for far too long. ‘‘If you’re truly in need of a pair of shoes, I’m certain I could find something within your budget. And although I require the girls to pay in full when they place their orders, in your case, I would be willing to arrange for payments.’’

  ‘‘Why don’t you come inside,’’ she said after a moment of silence. ‘‘It’s much too cold outdoors.’’

  ‘‘Well, if you’re absolutely certain. I don’t want to keep you from your chores,’’ he said, his voice as smooth as cream.

  ‘‘Not at all. Come in,’’ Elinor said while turning her key in the lock. She took his hat and coat and hung them beside her own on the wooden pegs inside the front door. The sight of a man’s coat next to her own appeared strange and yet achingly familiar. ‘‘Why don’t you sit down in the parlor while I make a pot of tea. A cup of hot tea would help ward off the chill, don’t you agree?’’

  He rubbed his hands together in quick, exaggerated motions.

  ‘‘Indeed. Something warm would be most satisfying.’’

  Mr. Maxwell had opened his case and was removing the con- tents when Elinor returned with a tea tray. She settled herself on the couch and poured him a cup of tea while glancing at his samples. ‘‘You have some lovely shoes,’’ she said, offering him the cup.

  ‘‘I’m pleased you think so. I pride myself on the quality and variety of shoes I sell. Have you decided to take me up on my offer and order a pair?’’

  ‘‘I believe I will,’’ Elinor replied, pointing toward a soft kid boot.

  He graced her with a charming smile as she extended her foot. ‘‘An excellent choice. Now I need only measure your foot.’’ Mr. Maxwell wrapped his fingers around Elinor’s ankle as he carefully removed her shoe. His fingers trailed the length of her foot before he placed it atop the measuring paper. Her eyes widened as an unbidden tremble coursed through her body.

  CHAPTER• 5

  JASMINE SAT STARING at the distant horizon in a trancelike stupor, feeling as though someone else had inhabited her body and rendered her immobile. She should be getting dressed, yet her limbs were heavy, weighed down by an intense aching sorrow—a sorrow she hadn’t anticipated. The entire family had expected her mother’s death, known it was coming, and in the end, waited upon it. Yet when death finally had its way and sucked the last remnant of breath from her mother’s body, an unexpected pain had seared Jasmine’s heart, for she knew that her life would never again be the same.

  The bright, sunny morning seemed strangely out of place— not the type of day one envisioned for a funeral. Nolan had taken Spencer downstairs several hours earlier, likely thinking she would immediately don her mourning clothes and join the rest of the family. But she had no desire to enter the parlor, where her mother’s body lay awaiting the undertaker’s hearse. Better to let the coffin be closed without once again staring down at her mother’s lifeless face—a picture that had already etched itself into her memory. She had listened and watched as their friends and neighbors attempted to impart comfort, yet there was nothing they could say or do that would assuage her grief. Most of them knew little of her mother. Visitors had not been encouraged in later years, at least not by the mistress of The Willows. However, now they needed no invitation to call; now they came because it was proper.

  Somewhere in the distance she heard her name but pressed her face closer to the window, wishing it were springtime and the magnolias were in bloom. Her mother had loved magnolias. Instead, it was November and her father was as concerned over the cotton harvest as his wife’s death—or so it appeared. She had listened while he’d discussed his disappointment over the prices with Uncle Franklin yesterday. Instead of lamenting his wife’s death, they had talked of cotton and the prices they had hoped to receive with this crop. Never once did she hear either of them mention their remorse over her mother’s death. She’d not yet seen her father shed a tear—and each time someone grew near and offered condolences, he would cover his face in a mask of grief, only to be replaced by his normal appearance once they turned away.

  ‘‘Jasmine! Have you not heard me calling?’’ Her father’s voice was followed by several loud raps. ‘‘Are you ill?’’

  ‘‘Come in,’’ she said, still unable to force herself away from the window.

  ‘‘I was concerned . . .’’ He hesitated, staring at her. ‘‘You’re not dressed for the funeral. People have begun arriving. Thankfully, Samuel has finally arrived. You can’t wear that dress. Change into your black gown and come downstairs. I’ve given Spencer over to Bessie’s care for the remainder of the day. You need to gather your wits about you and behave like a grown woman, Jasmine. I need you to act as my hostess.’’

  ‘‘Hostess? This isn’t a party, Father. You don’t need a hostess at Mother’s funeral.’’ She choked out the words and flung herself toward him. ‘‘She’s dead! Don’t you care?’’ Hot tears rolled down her cheeks as she pounded his chest.

  He wrapped his arms tightly about her, holding her until the sobbing subsided and she relaxed in his arms. ‘‘Of course I care. She was my wife and I adored her, but I can’t bring her back. And no matter how deep my grief, there is a funeral about to take place. I would greatly appreciate it if you would get dressed and join us in the parlor.’’ He released his grasp and looked deep into her swollen brown eyes. ‘‘I apologize for my choice of words. You’re right. I don’t need a hostess. However, I do want my daughter to join me—I need to be surrounded by my family.’’

  She saw the glisten of tears in her father’s eyes and, for the first time since her mother’s death, realized his pain was fresh and raw—hidden from view, yet as absolute and deep as her own. ‘‘I’m sorry, Papa.’’ She drew him into a brief embrace and then leaned back to meet his gaze. ‘‘I thought because you and Uncle Franklin have been consumed by business discussions since Mother’s death, you weren’t feeling any loss.’’

  ‘‘We all grieve in different ways, my dear. I prefer to remain composed in front of others, and the only way I can accomplish that feat is to talk of the crops or weather or some other mundane topic that won’t remind me of your mother and the fact that now she is gone. At night I remind myself that one day we’ll be together again. But for today, we must give your mother a proper burial, and I would very much like you by my side.’’

  Jasmine nodded. ‘‘I’ll join you as soon as I’ve changed clothes.’’

  Her father leaned forward and placed a kiss on Jasmine’s forehead. ‘‘Thank you, my dear.

  When the last of the visitors finally departed, Jasmine turned to Nolan. ‘‘I must look in on Mammy. I promised to share the details of Mother’s funeral with her, and I’v
e not yet been to see her today.’’

  ‘‘Shall I go with you?’’

  Jasmine’s shoulders sagged a bit, and she forced a weary smile. ‘‘It’s probably best that I go alone, but thank you for your kind offer.’’

  ‘‘Promise that if Mammy’s asleep, you’ll return and get some rest yourself. I’m worried about you, Jasmine. You’re going to become ill if you don’t take care of yourself.’’

  ‘‘You have my word.’’

  Jasmine inhaled deeply as she walked down the hallway and neared the small room off the rear of the kitchen. Unfortunately, it didn’t help. She honestly doubted there was anything that would calm the roiling tumult of fear that had taken up residence deep within.

  She tiptoed into the room and sat down on the marred wooden chair beside Mammy’s bed. There was no sign of life in the old woman. However, before she would permit panic to clench a final hold over her, she held her hand above Mammy’s face. A faint rush of warm air tickled her palm.

  ‘‘What you doin’, chile? Plannin’ to smother me?’’ Mammy asked with a hint of a smile on her cracked lips.

  ‘‘I couldn’t see you breathing, and I was frightened,’’ Jasmine admitted. A tear trickled down her cheek as she leaned against the wood slats that backed the chair.

  ‘‘Ain’t no need to be cryin’,’’ Mammy said, reaching for Jasmine’s hand. ‘‘Now tell me ’bout your mama’s buryin’. Did the preacher say fine words over her?’’

  Jasmine nodded and squeezed Mammy’s hand, unable to push any sound around the large lump that had risen in her throat.

  ‘‘She’s in a better place, Miz Jasmine. You got to remember dat.’’

  ‘‘I know, but with Mama gone and you so ill, I feel as though my whole world has turned upside down. I don’t think I could bear it if you died. Promise me you’ll get well,’’ she begged.

  ‘‘Umm, um, chile, you know I can’t be promisin’ such a thin’ as dat ’cause the good Lord, He be callin’ me home. But you listen to your ole mammy and you listen good. You need to be lookin’ to the Lord to fill dat place inside o’ you. He’s the only one dat’ll pull you through the hard times, the only one dat’s always there when you need Him, the only one who never changes—He’s faithful and true and won’ never leave you, chile. So it’s Him you need to keep fixed on—not your ole mammy. You understan’ what I’m telling you?’’