A Love Woven True

by Judith Miller

  ‘‘That’s a wonderful idea,’’ Jasmine commented. Finally, Elinor was exhibiting some enthusiasm!

  Elinor gave her a modest smile. ‘‘Do you think so?’’

  ‘‘Absolutely,’’ Jasmine replied.

  Nettie tapped on the walnut table beside her chair until she gained the group’s attention. ‘‘That may well work for ladies and even the older children, but how do you propose getting shoes for the men? Now there’s a task you’ll not resolve quite so easily.’’

  ‘‘Rest assured I’ll find a solution,’’ Elinor curtly assured.

  CHAPTER• 8

  June

  ELINOR BRUSHED a damp curl from her cheek and absently tucked the strand of loose hair behind one ear. Momentarily gazing into the cloudless sky, she continued walking. The scorching sun had slipped beneath the horizon, yet the penetrating afternoon heat lingered. Days of abnormally high temperatures had passed without any sign of intruding rain, and now strained tempers and harsh words had begun to gain a stronghold among members of the community. Elinor had not been immune to the scourge. Standing over a hot stove and cooking three meals a day while performing the myriad of other chores required of her to keep her boardinghouse had taken its toll.

  The stir of a faint breeze cooled the beads of perspiration forming along her upper lip and forehead and provided a momentary respite from the heat. Clouds of dust billowed from the roadway as horse-drawn wagons and carriages passed by. Elinor angrily brushed the mounting layers of grimy film from within the folds of her foam green gown.

  ‘‘I should have remained at the boardinghouse. I’ll have to beat the dust out of this dress before I can wear it again,’’ she muttered.

  ‘‘Talking to yourself?’’

  Elinor whirled around and was met by a smiling Oliver

  Maxwell. ‘‘Mr. Maxwell! I didn’t realize you were walking behind me.’’

  ‘‘Actually, I was running. For such a little lady, you have quite a stride. Might I ask why you find it necessary to maintain such a rapid pace—if you don’t think me overly bold for inquiring,’’ he hastily added.

  ‘‘I’m on my way to the antislavery meeting at the Baptist church, and if I stand here much longer, I’m going to be late. There won’t be a seat remaining. Do forgive me for hurrying off, but I’m already weary and I don’t want to stand throughout the meeting.’’

  ‘‘Well, isn’t this a fortunate coincidence? I’m on my way to the very same meeting. I would be most pleased to accompany you,’’ he offered while brandishing his black hat in a grand sweeping motion and bowing from the waist.

  The wind whipped at Elinor’s skirts, twisting the chambray fabric around her legs. She gave a tug to her skirt and then pushed her teetering hat back into place. Her lips formed a diminutive frown. ‘‘Strange, but in all the visits you’ve made to the boardinghouse, I don’t believe I’ve ever heard you make mention of being involved in the antislavery movement,’’ she said as she placed a firm hold on her chapeau.

  ‘‘During my travels I’ve learned to keep my personal feelings and beliefs to myself.’’ His gaze shifted and he glanced over his shoulder. ‘‘One never knows who can be trusted. As I’m certain you’re aware, even the various residents of a boardinghouse may have differing opinions when it comes to the slavery issue.’’

  ‘‘ ’Tis true there are a few girls in my own boardinghouse who disagree with the antislavery movement. However, those girls have no ulterior motive. They are merely self-involved youth with seemingly little compassion for anyone. I wonder, however, if you fear that your shoe sales will be affected should you divulge your opposition to slavery?’’

  Oliver tilted his head to one side and scrunched his eyebrows. ‘‘My intentions are sincere—I remain silent only to protect those connected with the cause. I consider myself much like you: I simply want to help where needed.’’

  Elinor’s cheeks flamed with embarrassment. ‘‘I apologize, Mr. Maxwell. I’m certain you think me rather suspicious, but it seems I come in contact with many who have ulterior motives. While I believe there are those who need help as much as the slaves, I do not think it appropriate to become attached to a cause merely to benefit oneself. Wouldn’t you agree?’’ she asked as they continued onward toward the meeting.

  ‘‘Certainly I concur with your opinion. The country would be in far better condition if we would all place others before ourselves. Those poor slaves are suffering beyond what any of us can imagine.’’

  Elinor merely nodded her agreement. However, she wanted to tell him that she, too, had suffered beyond what anyone could imagine—not at the hands of a cruel plantation owner, but her suffering was every bit as painful. She had buried two husbands and been left in poverty—forced to support herself by keeping house for unappreciative mill girls. Yet, she remained silent. Voicing the afflictions she had been forced to tolerate would make her seem trivial and self-indulgent—the very traits for which she had berated others only moments earlier before being reminded by a nagging, clawing guilt that she had attended her first antislavery meeting simply because she feared isolation. She then joined the small group aiding the Underground Railroad, for she knew the meetings would provide her with much-needed social contact— not because she genuinely believed in the cause. She continued attending more from a need to escape the boardinghouse than a genuine desire to free the slaves from their bondage. However, being a part of the effort had begun to alter her beliefs. She now took pleasure in reaching the goals assigned by the small group. The days of believing life intolerable were fewer, and she even indulged herself with a small glimmer of hope from time to time. She also enjoyed the larger gatherings, where they heard orators proclaiming the good being accomplished by Northern activists.

  ‘‘We’d best take these seats. Doesn’t appear there’s anything closer,’’ Oliver remarked.

  Elinor agreed with his advice and, after gathering her skirts, edged past several couples already seated in the row. ‘‘This will be fine. I don’t think we’ll have any difficulty hearing the speakers,’’ she said as Oliver situated himself beside her.

  ‘‘I see several of the keepers are in attendance,’’ he said, nodding toward Mrs. Ebert and Mrs. Wynn.

  ‘‘Yes, they generally attend,’’ Elinor absently remarked. ‘‘Oh, it appears they’re ready to begin. We got here none too early.’’

  In a show of unity for the cause, ministers from several churches were seated on the dais, and each took a moment at the lectern to expound upon the good deeds accomplished by their individual congregations on behalf of the antislavery movement. After listening to the preachers ramble on for nearly an hour, the sound of shuffling feet and agitated murmurs began to permeate the room.

  The minister of the Freewill Baptist Church finally stepped forward. ‘‘I’m sorry to announce that our speaker for the evening has not yet arrived.’’ The balding pastor glanced over his shoulder toward the preachers seated behind him and then turned back toward the gathered crowd. ‘‘We had hoped that Mr. Alderson might appear during our introductory remarks. However, it’s obvious he’s been detained, and it now seems quite doubtful he will arrive in time to present his scheduled lecture. Since the evening is warm—especially in this overfilled room, I think it best if we dismiss—unless you absolutely insist upon staying to hear about the good deeds of my congregation.’’

  A smattering of laughter could be heard as the crowd rose to its feet and began inching their way out of the room. Silently chastising herself for having left home without a fan, Elinor flapped her limp handkerchief back and forth, hoping to create a breeze. Turning sideways, Elinor continued moving forward, irritated at those who blocked the passageway as they stopped to visit with one another.

  ‘‘Finally! I thought we would never get through that group.’’

  Oliver smiled down at her, revealing a small dimple in his right cheek. ‘‘Just appeared as though folks wanted to stop and exchange pleasantries for a few minutes,’’ he
remarked.

  ‘‘Boorish behavior,’’ Elinor snapped. ‘‘Those who wish to visit should step out of the aisle. It’s much too warm to be held captive in that narrow passageway by a swarm of people. For a moment I thought I might faint.’’

  ‘‘Rest assured I would have caught you before you neared the floor,’’ Oliver nobly stated.

  Elinor fanned her hanky a bit more rapidly. ‘‘Why, thank you, Mr. Maxwell. I take comfort knowing you were looking after my welfare.’’

  ‘‘I am hoping you’ll grant me the opportunity to look after your welfare a bit longer. If you don’t object, I’d be honored to escort you home,’’ he said as he offered his arm.

  ‘‘I suppose that would be acceptable.’’ Elinor surveyed the crowd before taking his arm.

  ‘‘Afraid someone might see us together?’’ he inquired, his grin returning.

  ‘‘No. Well, yes, I suppose I am,’’ she admitted. ‘‘The girls who board with me take pleasure in gossiping. I’m certain they would find great delight in discussing the fact that I am in your company.’’

  ‘‘Is that all? Well, let them talk! They can whisper and giggle and make up any story they so desire. If they derive pleasure from seeing us together, let them have their enjoyment.’’

  ‘‘They don’t enjoy observing us, Mr. Maxwell. They enjoy gossiping. If one of them sees us, she’ll spread the word. By week’s end, everyone at the Appleton Mill will have us betrothed.’’

  He tipped his hat at a passerby and then turned back to Elinor. ‘‘They could say much worse. In fact, I’d be flattered if folks believed a lady as lovely as you would consider marrying an itinerant shoe peddler.’’

  She gave him a demure smile. ‘‘You flatter me, Mr. Maxwell.’’

  ‘‘Not so, Mrs. Brighton. I speak the truth,’’ he said as they continued down the street. ‘‘I admire a lady who has proven she can not only support herself, but also keep her beauty and charm intact while doing so.’’

  ‘‘Thank you for your kind words. Now tell me, where do you call home, Mr. Maxwell?’’

  ‘‘Wherever I put my head down for the night,’’ he cheerfully replied.

  ‘‘Surely you have someplace you consider your home,’’ she pressed.

  ‘‘Baltimore is where I was born and reared and where my mother and sister continue to reside. However, I much prefer New England. My shoe business has flourished in this area. Of course, the cold weather means folks need good warm shoes and boots.’’

  ‘‘From the number of shoes you sell in my boardinghouse alone, it would appear you could permanently remain in Lowell. Seems the girls always have money to spend on themselves. Why, I believe some of them have at least three pairs of shoes—and the money they spend on jewelry and fabric . . . why, it’s almost sinful. They could put their money and energies to better use, if you ask me. While girls in the other boardinghouses show a genuine interest in helping with the antislavery cause and expanding their minds at the lyceums or writing for the Lowell Offering, none of the girls in my house appears interested in anything other than spending money on herself and finding a husband.’’

  ‘‘They’re young and will likely expand their horizons in a year or two. However, I do understand your exasperation with their behavior. Especially when more help is always needed for good causes such as the antislavery movement and the Underground Railroad.’’

  Elinor stopped and turned toward him. ‘‘You know of the Underground Railroad movement in Lowell?’’

  ‘‘Of course. I likely shouldn’t tell you this, but I know you can be trusted. There are hundreds of runaways who have benefited from the simple maps I’ve drawn for their use. With my constant travels throughout New England, I’m aware of new roads and houses—you know, changes taking place along the route into Canada. I update the maps as needed. I like to think I’m providing a useful service to those operating the Underground Railroad as well as the runaways.’’

  Elinor’s brows furrowed and creases lined her forehead. ‘‘I didn’t realize.’’ She hesitated and stared up into his cobalt blue eyes.

  ‘‘I’ve never heard anyone speak of your connection with the Underground.’’

  ‘‘I’m pleased to know my involvement astonished you. That alone verifies the fact that my participation in the Underground hasn’t been widely exposed.’’

  She nodded her agreement. After all, anonymity was vital to the cause. There were likely hundreds involved whose identities were unknown to her. ‘‘How long have you been helping?’’ she ventured as they walked down Merrimack Street.

  ‘‘Many years. I find the work gratifying, don’t you?’’

  ‘‘Oh, yes. However, there are times I worry about difficulties that might arise. I certainly can’t afford to lose my position with the Corporation.’’

  ‘‘Oh, I don’t think you need worry in that regard,’’ he said. ‘‘I’m certain they have much more important matters worrying them than a few employees aiding the Underground Railroad. Besides, it’s my understanding that the mill owners are publicly supportive of the abolitionist movement.’’

  ‘‘You’re probably correct on that account, but one can never be too careful.’’ They reached the front door of the boardinghouse. ‘‘Would you care to come in for a glass of lemonade?’’

  ‘‘Something cool to drink would be most welcome,’’ he replied.

  Elinor entered the hallway and carefully removed her hat. ‘‘Why don’t you have a seat in the parlor and I’ll fetch our lemonade.’’

  She hurried off to the kitchen, pleased to see none of her boarders were in the parlor. Had any of the girls known Mr. Maxwell would make an appearance this evening, they would surely have been present. All of the girls made it a point to be at home when Mr. Maxwell came to sell his shoes. He was, after all, a handsome bachelor who had a way with words. Elinor poured the lemonade into two tall glasses and placed them on a wooden tray, along with a plate of sugar cookies she’d baked early that morning.

  ‘‘Here we are,’’ Elinor announced as she returned to the room. She centered the tray on a small table in front of the sofa and then offered Oliver one of the glasses of cool lemonade. His hand, warm and firm, wrapped around her fingers. The liquid sloshed toward the lip of the glass as she hastily tugged away from his grasp. ‘‘Whatever are you doing?’’ Her fingers splayed and she placed one hand to her chest. Perhaps the pressure of her clammy palm would still the erratic pounding of her heart.

  Oliver’s eyes widened as she retreated to the other side of the room. ‘‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. Please accept my apology. I thought . . .’’

  Retrieving her handkerchief from the pocket of her gown, she delicately wiped her brow. ‘‘I know exactly what you thought, Mr.

  Maxwell. You believe I’m quite like the fawning mill girls who scurry to the parlor and vie for your attention the moment you enter the boardinghouse. You’ve decided I am a lonely widow in need of companionship who will compromise her behavior and morals. Well, I am not! I offered you a glass of lemonade, nothing more.’’

  ‘‘Dear lady, please forgive me. You extended your hospitality and friendship, and I behaved boorishly. I meant no harm. I find your conversation refreshing after endless hours of listening to the prattle of mill girls who insist upon having me call on them two or three times before placing an order for their shoes.’’

  ‘‘Is that what they do? There is no doubt such behavior would soon become incommodious.’’

  Oliver nodded and took a sip of his lemonade. ‘‘I don’t want to strain our friendship further. If you prefer I leave immediately, I will abide by your decision. However, it is my fervent desire to remain in your company and become better acquainted.’’

  Elinor loosened her grip on the wadded handkerchief in her hand. ‘‘I suppose it would be acceptable since we now understand each other.’’

  ‘‘Thank you for your kindness. Now, won’t you please sit down? I know you must be weary.’
’

  Pleased by the obvious concern in his voice, Elinor sat down opposite him and picked up her glass of lemonade. ‘‘Do tell me more of your association with the antislavery movement. How did you become involved?’’

  Oliver rubbed his forehead. ‘‘I hope you won’t be offended, but I’m not at liberty to discuss any further details of my involvement. I’ve likely already told you too much. What with my travels, I’ve become acquainted with many people like yourself who are helping with the cause. I’ve made it a practice never to divulge names or relate facts that might jeopardize those who are a part of the movement. I would never want it said that Oliver Maxwell was the cause of a failed escape.’’

  ‘‘An admirable quality, Mr. Maxwell. How could I possibly be offended? I realize the need for secrecy. Even our small group of women who help with the Underground Railroad must remain cautious. We’ve learned that attendance at antislavery meetings doesn’t necessarily mean one favors the cause.’’

  ‘‘Exactly my point,’’ he agreed. ‘‘Of course, there is no doubt in my mind that you are trustworthy, or I wouldn’t have even told you about my work preparing maps. On second thought, I don’t believe it would be imprudent for me to share more of my background with you.’’

  ‘‘No, no—I wouldn’t consider encouraging you to do such a thing,’’ she replied hastily.

  ‘‘Then if it wouldn’t pain you to discuss your past, I would be honored if you would tell me more about yourself.’’

  Elinor hesitated. Revealing private information with someone who was practically a stranger was foreign to her. Aside from her brother, she lived in a town filled with strangers. How could she expect to form friendships if she remained unwilling to disclose even a part of herself?

  ‘‘My childhood was quite pleasant. I came to America when I was nine years of age. My brother, Taylor Manning, and my uncle, John Farnsworth, had come to America to work for the Corporation. Taylor had recently married, and he and his new bride, Bella, came to England on their wedding trip. I returned with them and have been in America since that time.’’