A Fragile Design

by Tracie Peterson

  By the time Bella and Daughtie completed their Bible reading and uttered a brief prayer, the other girls came racing down the steps, their thumping shoes and volubility drowning out the clang of the second bell.

  ‘‘I wish we could eat breakfast before going off to work,’’ Daughtie complained as they joined the group of girls hurrying out the front door.

  Bella hooked arms with her friend. ‘‘We did our mending and cleaned the Brothers’ rooms before eating breakfast in Canterbury.’’

  ‘‘Performing routine daily chores isn’t the same as going off to work in a mill before having a bite to eat.’’

  ‘‘True, but leaving the mill for breakfast gives us a break and an opportunity to get out in the fresh air,’’ Bella countered.

  ‘‘And shovel down our meal without the time to properly chew or digest the food,’’ Daughtie shot back.

  Bella grinned and gave her friend’s arm a squeeze. ‘‘It is obvious nothing I say is going to cheer you or change your mind, so I’ll permit you the last word on this topic.’’

  Daughtie laughed. ‘‘I’m sorry. I sound like Sister Eunice—never willing to cease my arguing.’’

  ‘‘You haven’t quite reached Sister Eunice’s level, but promise you won’t make that a goal,’’ Bella said, joining in Daughtie’s laughter.

  ‘‘I’m pleased to see you two so cheerful this morning,’’ the overseer greeted as they entered the room. ‘‘We have several girls out sick, and I’ll need each of you to tend an extra loom.’’

  ‘‘So much for memorizing Scripture today,’’ Daughtie whispered as she patted her pocket.

  ‘‘But, Mr. Kingman, we’ve only just learned to manage one of those metal beasts. Surely you don’t expect us to capably tend two,’’ Bella replied.

  ‘‘You’ll do fine. Besides, I have no choice. Too many of the operatives are either ill or leaving without proper notice.’’

  Bella gave Daughtie a waning smile as they walked toward their looms. ‘‘We can paste them up today. That way they’ll be ready and waiting for us tomorrow.’’ At the moment it was as much encouragement as she could offer.

  ‘‘If we can find time to do even that,’’ Daughtie replied. ‘‘I find it appalling they expect us to take over another loom. It’s obvious all they care about is quantity. They care little about the quality of their products or the well-being of their workers.’’

  Bella nodded. She couldn’t argue with what she knew was truth. These mills were a moneymaking proposition for the owners, who were interested in a handsome profit above all else. On the other hand, the Shakers placed incomparable workmanship above all else. Reconciling the opposing concepts was not possible.

  ‘‘We’ll just have to do the best we can,’’ she replied as they took their places at the looms and awaited the bell’s pealing before setting their looms into motion.

  Taking up the brass-tipped hollowed-out piece of wood, Bella filled it with a long thread-laden wood bobbin. Lifting the shuttle to her mouth, she sucked in, pulling the bobbin thread through the small hole near the tip of the shuttle and then set the prepared shuttle in the metal box at one end of the race before moving to the next machine and picking up the second. As she sucked the thread through the eye of the second shuttle, the bell tolled and the weaving room clamored to life.

  Bella slapped the handle of her machine and watched momentarily as the shuttle carrying the weft thread flew across the race between the shed of warp threads. The reed swung forward, beating against the weft, evenly tightening the latest addition of thread against the already-woven cloth. The beam crashed up and down, raising and dropping the heddles into position as the shuttle, flying in and out of the shuttle box, continued journeying back and forth at breakneck speed. The floor reverberated as she moved back and forth between the machines, repeating her routine: replacing empty bobbins with full ones, tying a weaver’s knot when an errant thread snagged, always mindful to watch that the finished cloth was uniformly winding onto the take-up.

  Glancing across the room, she took a moment to watch Daughtie moving back and forth between her two assigned machines. Her friend appeared miserable, with her face screwed into a look of anxiety as she stopped the second machine to insert a filled shuttle. A tight fist of remorse formed in Bella’s stomach. She shouldn’t have encouraged Daughtie to come with her. It had been a selfish act. If Daughtie decided she wanted to go home, Bella determined she would accompany her back to Canterbury. But she would not remain in New Hampshire herself—of that she was certain. Once Daughtie was safely delivered, she would return to Lowell and this new life by herself.

  Adjusting to the world’s ways would take perseverance, but Bella was willing to accept the hurried meals, the crowded boardinghouse, the deafening noise of the mills, and the lack of privacy in exchange for the freedom to explore her beliefs and make decisions based upon those new discoveries.

  Daughtie, however, was not one who questioned anything. Whatever the Society taught, Daughtie believed. But their early lives had been differently formed, Bella reasoned. While Daughtie had spent her entire life among the Brothers and Sisters, steeped in the teachings of Sister Ann and the United Society of Believers, Bella had spent her early years within the nurturing nest of her parents, who had encouraged her inquiring personality. At least until they moved to Canterbury. But unlike her father and Daughtie, Bella and her mother had never completely embraced life among the Believers.

  Time moved slowly until the ringing tower bell announced the breakfast break. The machines groaned to a halt, the whirring leather belts ceased turning, and the roomful of operatives raced between the rows of machines toward the stairway.

  ‘‘Are you able to keep up with both looms?’’ Bella asked as they joined the throng of workers scurrying into the mill yard.

  ‘‘I suppose I’m doing well enough, although this day can’t end soon enough for me,’’ Daughtie replied. ‘‘I only hope those sick girls are well come morning.’’

  Bella nodded her head. ‘‘I agree, but it’s been easier than I anticipated. I even pasted up the Scriptures on my loom. Did you have an opportunity to place yours?’’

  Daughtie gave her a frown. ‘‘I feel fortunate I was able to stop the looms when I saw an uneven weft row or snag, but I fear I may have missed some imperfections in the cloth. I surely hope not, but I did my best. My verses are still tucked in my pocket.’’

  Reaching to embrace her friend in a quick hug, Bella said, ‘‘I know you did your very best.’’

  ‘‘It comes easier for you, Bella. I’m not making excuses for myself, but you move among those hideous monsters without fear. When the power comes on and the looms heave to life, I fear that the trembling floors will drop from beneath my feet.

  The whole room seems synchronized to the incessant rumbling of the looms,’’ Daughtie replied soulfully.

  ‘‘It will get easier,’’ Bella promised as they entered the boardinghouse.

  ‘‘I hope so,’’ Daughtie replied as they hung their cloaks near the door.

  Bella and Daughtie joined the other girls in the dining room and were soon filling their plates with breakfast fare, passing bowls of oatmeal and boiled potatoes seasoned with chunks of bacon with one hand while forking food into their mouths with the other. There was little time for the formalities of courteous dining. The girls had not yet completed their meal when the tower bell pealed out its warning signal. Chairs scraped, silverware clanked, and napkins were tossed toward the table, a few missing the mark and tumbling to the floor as the operatives jumped up and hastened off to the mill.

  Bella remained near Daughtie as they returned to work, hoping somehow the closeness would provide encouragement to her friend. ‘‘We can spend the whole evening together,’’ Bella offered as they neared their looms.

  Daughtie smiled and squeezed Bella’s hand. ‘‘That would be nice—if we’re not too weary to remain awake by day’s end.’’

  The routine resumed in earnest
at the clanging of the bell. Returning her gaze to the Scripture, Bella was beginning to repeat the words aloud when the young doffer dropped to the floor and began crawling through the machines. Bella saw the marble rolling across the floor with Clara in pursuit. As the hours began to pass, Bella was able to read the Scripture verses tacked to her loom. She glanced about the room while attempting to memorize the words, enjoying the challenge. Bella smiled at Clara, the young doffer who came running to gather her box of empty bobbins. The child was no more than ten, with hazel eyes and long chestnut brown hair. As Bella nodded, the girl opened her hand to reveal a beautiful glass marble for Bella’s inspection.

  ‘‘It’s beautiful,’’ Bella mouthed to the child.

  Clara smiled her obvious appreciation for the compliment while pushing the cart of empty bobbins away from Bella’s looms. She continued down the narrow aisle, her small stature permitting her to move through the machinery with apparent ease.

  ‘‘Nooo!’’ Bella screamed, her voice drowned out by the perpetual thump and bang of the surrounding machines. She felt as though her shoes were fastened to the floor, her body moving in sluggish, laborious motion as she struggled to reach the young child whose screams now matched her own.

  Clara, anxious to reclaim her marble, had reached through the gears of Annie Williams’ loom. Before Bella could reach her, the girl’s fingers were snapping like brittle twigs. Annie stood frozen, her machine continuing its inhumane torture, the child unable to remove her hand. Shoving Annie aside, Bella grasped the handle and slapped it to the off position. The loom groaned to a stop, yet Clara’s screams were unrelenting as Mr. Kingman made his way toward them.

  ‘‘What are you doing away from your looms, Miss Newberry?’’ he hollered, his baritone voice resonating above all other noise in the room.

  Bella pointed toward the child. ‘‘She’s injured—her hand . . .’’

  The overseer scooped up Clara. ‘‘Back to work,’’ he commanded before carrying the limp child out of the room.

  Bella spun around and retreated to her looms, gazing toward Daughtie as she made her return. Daughtie stared back—a wideeyedvacant look, as though her mind was unable to process what she had just witnessed.

  CHAPTER 8

  Lilly Cheever straightened the folds of her lavender silk carriage dress as the horse-drawn buggy came to a halt in front of Addie Beecher’s boardinghouse. Her frock wasn’t of the latest fashion, but when topped with the double-pointed cashmere-lined pelerine, she could pass the scrutiny of Lowell’s fashion-conscious society women. Adjusting her large leghorn hat, she tightened the matching lavender ribbons before stepping down from her coach.

  ‘‘You may return for me at four o’clock,’’ she instructed the driver, who nodded and tipped his hat.

  Lilly walked up the wide step to number 5 Jackson Street. Eighteen months ago, she would have burst through the door without knocking. But that was when she was one of the operatives at the Appleton who boarded with Miss Addie. Nowadays, she was Miss Addie’s visitor, so she raised her gloved hand and firmly knocked at the door of what was once her home.

  The sound of Miss Addie bustling toward the door could be heard even before it opened. ‘‘Lilly! Do come in, dear,’’ the rosyfaced keeper greeted. Her lips were turned up in a welcoming smile that caused dimples to form in each of her plump cheeks. ‘‘I just prepared our tea,’’ she said, leading Lilly into the parlor. ‘‘I didn’t want to waste a minute of our visiting time out in the kitchen,’’ she explained with a giggle.

  Lilly seated herself beside Miss Addie on the familiar overstuffed settee and watched as Addie filled two delicate china cups with the hot brew. ‘‘It’s been too long since we’ve gotten together for a visit,’’ Lilly commented as she took the cup Miss Addie offered. ‘‘I must admit, however, that it is still difficult for me to think of myself as other than one of your girls,’’ she observed. ‘‘In fact, I still awaken with a start at the sound of the bells and think it’s time to get ready for work.’’

  Addie chuckled and patted Lilly’s hands. ‘‘You’ll always be one of my girls, Lilly. How could you not be? Were it not for all of your help teaching me to cook and manage this house, the Corporation would have dismissed me long ago.’’

  ‘‘You were a capable student. Besides, you would have learned on your own had I not appeared on your doorstep.’’

  ‘‘Eventually. But I doubt any of the girls would have remained in the house long enough to find out. I’m just thankful you came knocking. God was certainly looking out for me that day.’’

  Lilly took a sip of her tea. ‘‘Now, tell me, what’s been going on with you and John Farnsworth? I’ve been expecting a wedding invitation.’’

  ‘‘I don’t think a wedding is in the offing right now, Lilly. I care deeply for John and I believe he feels the same, but we’ve encountered an obstacle upon which we disagree. Until we’re able to reach a resolution that’s suitable to both of us, I doubt you’ll hear any wedding bells.’’

  Lilly furrowed her brow. ‘‘Please don’t think me forward, Miss Addie, but dare I inquire as to the nature of your obstacle?’’

  Addie nodded. ‘‘Of course, dear. You know the Corporation built that fine house for John?’’ she asked.

  Lilly nodded. ‘‘It appears to be a lovely home.’’

  ‘‘John is very fond of it. But I am very fond of this boardinghouse and my girls. I want him to move in here when we marry. He wants me to give up the boardinghouse and move into his big house. Accordingly, we reached an impasse. Now that his nephew has arrived from England and moved into the house with him, John seems content to keep our arrangement as it is. There’s been little discussion of marriage since young Taylor’s arrival.’’

  Lilly gave her friend a thoughtful look. ‘‘I’m guessing your decision may have been based on more than leaving the boardinghouse.’’

  Addie glanced toward the floor. ‘‘Whatever do you mean?’’

  ‘‘I would guess you’re concerned about Miss Mintie and how she might react if you married John and moved into his fine house. You don’t want to hurt your sister. Am I correct?’’

  A slight blush colored Miss Addie’s full cheeks. ‘‘I know I’m entitled to a happy married life with John, but I won’t deny that I worry about Mintie’s reaction should I wed. I believe she’s beginning to soften a bit—her occasional outings with Lawrence Gault have helped, but he appears unlikely to make a commitment at this time. Mintie tells me his mother is ailing and he feels the weight of responsibility for her care. Even though his mother doesn’t live in Lowell, Mr. Gault travels home frequently and provides for all of her financial care.’’

  ‘‘Mintie’s problems aside, Addie, it’s time you thought of your own future. I realize doing so seems selfish to someone of your sweet nature, but John is a fine man who wants only the best for you. I’m sure he doesn’t want to see you laboring in this boardinghouse every day, waiting on all these girls when he is perfectly capable of providing a fine home for you. You haven’t always lived like this. You were once a part of Boston’s upper society. Now, I realize Lowell is a far cry from that, but think of the good you might do. You could have teas for the girls. You could open your home for lectures and such. Besides, what would become of that fine home the Corporation built for him?’’

  ‘‘Speaking of houses, how are you and Matthew enjoying your new home?’’

  It was obvious Miss Addie was moving the topic of conversation away from her dilemma with John, but Lilly pretended not to notice as she took a bite of her tart.

  ‘‘This is delicious,’’ she complimented. ‘‘Perhaps you’ll share the recipe.’’

  Addie grinned. ‘‘Now, who would have thought the day would arrive when I could share a recipe with you?’’

  ‘‘Well, it doesn’t surprise me a bit!’’ Lilly exclaimed.

  ‘‘Thank you, dear. Now, please, do tell me about your new home.’’

  Lilly gave Addie a misch
ievous grin. ‘‘I don’t think I will.’’

  Addie’s face reflected astonishment at the reply. ‘‘What? Whyever not?’’

  ‘‘Because I want you to come and see it for yourself. I’m extending an invitation to tea for a week from Sunday if you’re available. I decided upon Sunday afternoon because I’d like you to invite any of your girls to come along who might enjoy the outing.’’

  ‘‘Oh, Lilly, that would be such fun. How kind you are to include the girls. But you may end up with quite a houseful when they discover they’ll get to see your fine new home.’’

  Lilly smiled at her friend’s excitement. ‘‘I’ve not been gone from this boardinghouse so long that I don’t fondly remember those special outings that made the routine of working in the mills more bearable.’’

  ‘‘Especially the ones with Matthew?’’ Addie teased.

  ‘‘Yes, especially those,’’ Lilly agreed, returning Addie’s smile.

  ‘‘It will be fun meeting—’’

  A knock sounded at the front door, interrupting Lilly’s remark.

  Addie rose and walked toward the hallway. ‘‘I can’t imagine who would come calling at this time of day,’’ she remarked before pulling open the door.

  ‘‘Are you entertaining this afternoon?’’ The words were more of an accusation than a question.

  Lilly immediately recognized the voice. Mintie Beecher. Most likely she had spied the carriage when Lilly arrived. From all appearances, life hadn’t changed much in the past year and a half. Miss Mintie was still peeking out at the world from behind her drapery-covered windows in the boardinghouse across the street and was still inserting herself in Addie’s affairs whenever she pleased. She believed it not only her right but her duty as elder sister to see that Addie lived above reproach.

  Mintie swooped into the parlor and peered over the top of her wire-rimmed spectacles while conducting a survey of the room. ‘‘Just as I thought,’’ she condemned. ‘‘I’m not invited when you have special guests come to visit.’’