Tracy nodded his head. “That’s true, although I think perhaps some of the locals resented the town’s name being changed to Lowell. It appears they’re now becoming accustomed to the change, and with the daily influx of newcomers to the town, I believe the name has taken hold.”
“I’m not so sure the old farm families have accepted the renaming of East Chelmsford just yet,” Matthew interjected. A wave of embarrassment washed over Matthew as he realized he’d spoken the words aloud. He was here to listen and learn, not to necessarily voice an opinion.
All heads turned toward him, making his embarrassment even more complete. Kirk Boott gave him a slight smile before turning to the others. “I believe all of you know Matthew Cheever. He has strong ties to the Chelmsford farming community. He keeps me abreast of any unrest that may be stirring among the locals. Most of it has been settled by now, of course, but Matthew can tell you that many of the old East Chelmsford landowners still resent us—particularly those of us involved in purchasing their land.”
Tracy Jackson swirled the deep purple liquid in his snifter. “Don’t tell me they’re still contending they were duped.”
Boott looked to Matthew. “Go ahead,” he encouraged.
“I’m afraid so,” Matthew responded, feeling strengthened by Boott’s approval. “Many say you deceived them.”
“How so? They were paid a fair price,” Appleton retorted.
“It’s not the money, although they do believe they were underpaid,” Matthew replied. “Those landowners truly believed the land would continue to be used for agrarian purposes. They sold their acreage based on that belief and say that Mr. Boott told them he planned to plant crops and raise sheep. Now they deeply resent the industrialization of their land.”
“Surely they didn’t believe Kirk was going to become a country squire,” Tracy jibed. Several of the men chuckled. “What they’re angry about is the fact that we’ve been able to put their land and water rights to profitable use.”
“Since Mr. Boott is the visible member of the Boston Associates, the one with whom the locals have had personal dealings, their anger toward him runs deep. They have even gone so far as to make up a song about Mr. Boott,” Matthew replied.
Tracy Jackson shook his head and laughed. “Ah, you’ve been memorialized, Kirk. I hope they haven’t portrayed you too shamefully. Why don’t you sing it for us, Mr. Cheever?” Jackson encouraged.
Kirk shifted in his chair. “If it’s a musical offering you’re wanting, Tracy, I’m sure the women have something to offer in the other room.”
“Come now, Kirk. It can’t be all that bad,” Tracy taunted. “Give us the gist of it, at least, Matthew.”
Kirk nodded his head. “But no singing,” he admonished his young protégé.
Matthew made a show of himself, clearing his throat as he walked to the center of the room. Gone was all hint of embarrassment. The other men applauded in delight as he gave an exaggerated bow. “No singing,” he promised as he turned toward Boott and received what he knew to be a forbidding glance. “Besides, I’m afraid my voice would send the gentlemen running out the front door. Now, let me see if I can remember a verse or two of that little ditty.
“There came a man from the old country,
the Merrimack River, he happened to see.
What a capital place for mills, quoth he,
Ri-toot, ri-noot, riumpty, ri-tooten-a.
And then these farmers so cute,
They gave all their lands and timber to Boott,
Ri-toot, ri-noot, ri-toot, riumpty, ri-tooten-a.”
A thunder of applause filled the room while he gave a slight bow and returned to his chair. Matthew sensed that Kirk was carefully observing him. He didn’t want to do anything to estrange their relationship, yet truth be known, he was enjoying the attention of these powerful men.
“You have the boy well trained, Kirk. I notice he ceased his recitation and came running back to his chair the moment you appeared bored by his presentation.”
Matthew ignored Paul Moody’s remark but was somewhat surprised when Boott nodded, gave his friend a wry smile, and said in a voice loud enough for all to hear, “Let’s hope so. I believe I’ve earned my reputation among my business partners as well as the Lowell community.” The comment irked Matthew, who was no child. At twenty-five he was no one’s trained boy.
Nathan leaned forward and offered Kirk more port. “The last I heard, they were referring to you as the tyrant-in-residence.”
Holding out his glass to accept the offered drink, Kirk shook his head. “I’m not sure it’s quite so bad. I may be quick to exact punishment, but I believe I am fair.”
“And what of that young boy who felt your riding whip upon his back last week? Would he believe you to be fair?” Nathan asked.
“Ah, word does travel quickly, doesn’t it? Just remember, gentlemen, none of you wanted to live in Lowell and create civilization out of mayhem. You willingly granted me the position of tyrant-in-residence, and I believe the town is better for it. That boy was an impudent scoundrel who needed to feel my whip. And in the event you haven’t heard, I fired a foreman last week for disobedience. If any of you have a grievance with my methods, please speak out,” Boott challenged.
A silence fell over the room as each man cast sidelong glances at the others. Matthew could hardly agree with all of Boott’s methods, but he admired his ability to lay everything out on the table. Leaning back in his chair, Matthew crossed his arms and waited to see if anyone would take Boott to task.
Nathan broke the silence. “Now, Kirk, you know we have nothing but praise for your efforts in Lowell.” Matthew smiled to himself. He might have known Appleton would rise to the occasion and smooth any ruffled feathers. Nathan Appleton knew the importance of keeping Boott content in his position. As Boott had mentioned, no one else wanted the job of turning chaos into order.
Nathan continued when no one else joined in to comment. “There’s not a man here who would challenge your ability. After all, we chose you in large part because of your demanding personality. You have the paternalistic temperament necessary to manage the town. None of us is equal to the task, nor do we want it.”
Boott placed his arm around Matthew’s shoulder, breaking the tension that had filled the room. “Well done, my boy. Now that we’ve been entertained, let’s get down to business. Nathan, would you like to begin?”
Matthew breathed a sigh of relief as they waited for Nathan to settle behind his large walnut desk and then begin rummaging through a stack of papers and drawings. “Well, gentlemen, as you know, the textile mills are expanding at the approximate rate we had planned, and the profits have exceeded our expectations. As these additional mills are constructed, we’re going to need more girls to operate the looms. Kirk, why don’t you tell us what you’re doing in that regard? You might also give us a bit of information regarding the Irish. Have you been able to keep them contained?”
“Hiring more farm girls won’t be a problem. The girls themselves spread word of their good fortune through their letters and occasional visits back home. Their friends and relatives come to Lowell seeking the same opportunity to earn money. However, I did take an added precaution and hired two men to travel farther north into New Hampshire, Vermont, and even Maine, spreading the word and bringing back any girls that may be ready to come. We still have openings at the Appleton, and then there are always those that want to go home for vacations or leave due to illness—the usual turnover.
“As for the Irish, don’t concern yourselves. Although they are the one thing we seem to have overlooked in our planning, aren’t they?” Kirk questioned as he glanced about the room.
Matthew knew only too well the concern Boott and the others had in regard to the Irish. Ignorance of Irish culture, beliefs, and attitudes made this necessary element of laborers an unneeded worry. But they’d brought it on themselves. The Irish provided dirt-cheap labor—men who would break their backs from dawn to dusk, day after day aft
er day, for a quarter of the pay other men would demand.
Paul Moody raised his hand to the back of his neck and smoothed down the fringe of hair that circled his balding head. “I guess I always thought they’d return to Boston. Of course, I didn’t consider the fact that as we continued to build, we’d need them in Lowell digging the canals and helping construct the mills. We should have realized they’d begin to bring their families and squat on some of the land. Not much we can do about that now.”
“They’re a necessary evil, and that’s a fact,” William Thurston concluded. “Dirty bunch of beggars for the most part—heathens, the whole lot of them.”
“They’re papists, William, not heathens,” Nathan interjected.
“Same thing. More witchcraft than Christianity, as far as I’m concerned. Superstitious miscreants. You’d think so, too, Nathan, if you’d take some time and go down into that mess of shanties they’ve patched together on the Acre. It’s a blight to our fair city, and so are they.”
Nathan’s lips curled into a wry grin. “Really, William. I didn’t know you were spending so much time among the Irish, but since you’ve become such an authority, perhaps you’ve devised some sort of plan. What solution do you propose?”
Irritation crossed William’s face as he pulled a linen handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his forehead, and moved away from the blazing fireplace. He stuttered momentarily as all eyes shifted in his direction. “I didn’t mean to give the impression that I spend inordinate amounts of time with the Irish over at the Acre. I visit only when it’s necessary to question Hugh Cummiskey and assure myself things are progressing when I make my occasional trips to Lowell.”
“I guess the rest of us rely upon Kirk to give us that assurance,” Nathan put in. “After all, he’s the one that we’ve charged with the task of building and supervising the operation of the mills and canals—a monumental task, I might add, Kirk. It’s no wonder you’re in need of an assistant.” Nathan allowed his gaze to rest upon Matthew for a moment. “Ah, well, I digress. You still haven’t told us your solution, William.”
William had moved to a chair across the room from the fireplace, but the pinkish-purple flush continued to splotch his cheeks. “I don’t have a solution, but that doesn’t negate the fact that there is a very real problem. Left unchecked, the situation will only worsen,” he replied, his remark tinged with irritation.
Matthew watched intently. It was apparent William Thurston was upset with the lack of support among the Associates, though Boott stroked his chin while giving Thurston his exclusive attention. A look of gratitude washed over Thurston’s face when he realized he had been successful in garnering Boott’s attention. Finally Kirk rose from his chair and sauntered toward Nathan’s desk. Slowly he turned toward William and casually leaned against the oversized desk. “I agree with your observation that the Irish presence in Lowell was unplanned, William. We must always keep in mind, however, that although I’ve been successful in luring men away from the farms and out of Boston to work as mechanics and in the offices of the mills, there are few men willing to perform the heavy, dirty work of mucking out the canals, clearing the land, and constructing the buildings. I need pure brute labor to accomplish this work—not just animals, but men, too. The Irish may not offer much in the way of skilled labor or intelligence, but they’ve strong backs and, more importantly, they’re hungry. Even if I could find others willing to do the manual labor, the Irish tolerate lower wages. In that regard, it seems prudent to continue employing the Irish.”
“Hear, hear,” Tracy Jackson replied, holding up his glass toward the others. “Kirk is doing an excellent job protecting our investment. Don’t forget, William, you’re a major stockholder. I would think you’d be more interested in a good rate of return on your money than the plight of the Irish. Besides, they’re a pitiful lot of humans who have low expectations from life, especially from England and her descendants. Why not let Kirk take care of dealing with the Irish in Lowell? You’d serve us all better by remaining in Boston overseeing the banking business. I’m sure it would make your wife happier if you weren’t off to Lowell every week or ten days,” he added, giving William a perceptive glance.
William patted his linen handkerchief across his forehead. It appeared he didn’t quite trust himself to speak. Matthew watched closely, knowing that wisdom required Thurston to align himself with Boott and the Associates. But why was Thurston so hesitant? It was obvious he was a minority of one. Continuing to argue would only cause a breech—a breech that would cause problems for the other Associates, and one that Thurston surely couldn’t financially survive.
“You’re right, gentlemen. We need the Irish and they need us. So be it,” William finally replied. “I thought perhaps Daniel would be joining us this evening.”
Kirk smiled, nodded, and then leaned toward Matthew. He held his hand over his mouth and spoke quietly. “Mr. Thurston’s an intelligent man. He knows when to fight for a cause and when to give it up. Changing the subject was an intelligent tactical decision on his part.”
Tracy Jackson blew out a long, spiraling curl of smoke before answering William’s question. “Daniel was detained in Washington but hopes to be in Boston by mid-October. He sends nothing but good reports and continues to spread word among Congress that our venture is successful. Fortunately, our backers in Congress remain supportive—and Daniel assures me the federal funds will continue. Good news to all of us since that reduces our risk considerably.”
Matthew glanced around the room, his questioning gaze settling on his mentor.
“My young friend hasn’t been privy to information regarding our financial windfall and, I believe, is a bit perplexed by your comments, Tracy,” Kirk commented.
Nodding in agreement, Matthew turned toward Tracy Jackson as he stated, “Nothing difficult to understand, my boy. One learns early on the importance of choosing a lawyer who is not only well versed in the law but who has the proper connections. The Boston Associates decided on Daniel Webster. Daniel is well connected to members of Congress and a close friend to several of us.”
“An excellent lawyer, too,” William Thurston added, the ash on his cigar turning bright orange as he inhaled deeply.
“Absolutely—Harvard educated!” Tracy agreed. “When we were in the early stages of planning our textile revolution here in New England, each member of the group agreed to pledge personal funds toward the financial stability of our plan. Of course, additional financial security was a concern. It was Daniel who relieved us of that worry. He managed to secure a million-dollar windfall from Congress, which is being paid out over the course of our development of the Lowell project.” Tracy leaned back and blew a grayish-blue puff of smoke, a slow smile creeping across his lips as he watched the cloud inch upward into a circle and then rise toward the ceiling.
Matthew took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Had anyone other than the principal stockholders of the Boston Associates told him that the Congress was financially involved in this venture, Matthew would have denounced the revelation. There was, however, no sound reason for him to question the truth of what he was told. In fact, he found the information intoxicating. That he, the product of an East Chelmsford farm family, was sharing drinks with men who had the ability to influence the spending of Congressional dollars was surely one of his finer moments. A sense of power washed over him, and he wondered if Boott ever had such feelings. The improbability that he should be sitting in the midst of the Boston elite was mind-boggling, and there was no doubt in Matthew’s mind that he would find a way to make this situation beneficial to himself. He glanced toward Boott and was met by his steely gaze.
****
Later, as they prepared to make their way to the carriage, Boott spoke. “You remind me of myself in many ways, Matthew. I could almost hear your brain at work trying to determine how best to capitalize on your newfound place among these men of power and position.”
Matthew felt the heat rise in his cheeks. “I count you
foremost among these men, Mr. Boott.”
Kirk gave Matthew a wry grin as he slapped him on the back. “I’m sure you do, my boy. I’m also sure that you bear watching.”
Matthew knew the words were not spoken in jest. Boott would be watching him very closely in the future. If he was going to achieve his goal and become a member of the Boston Associates, he must be careful to do nothing that would cause Boott discomfort or concern. He chided himself for taking center stage earlier in the evening. He would need to remain low-key in the future, he thought as he followed behind Boott, shaking hands and offering his thanks and farewell to the men and their wives as they left the Appleton residence.
Soon they were settled into the carriage that would return them to Lowell. “It was obvious you enjoyed yourself this evening,” Kirk remarked.
Matthew leaned forward with his arms resting across his thighs. “Absolutely! I feel rather the fool for not realizing what an important role the government could play in a private business venture.”
“It’s merely your youth and inexperience that prohibited you from gaining such knowledge—coupled with the fact that such information isn’t bantered about among strangers. As a matter of fact, I was rather surprised when Nathan broached the subject in front of you. On another note, however, I’m interested in what thoughts you might have on Thurston’s comments regarding the Irish. Do you view the situation as problematic?”
Matthew leaned back in the coach and thought a few moments before answering. “I believe there are some valid concerns. Although Thurston was speaking of the larger settlement, there really are two separate groups settled in fairly close proximity to each other. But I’m sure you’re aware of that.”
“No, I don’t spend any time in that area. Hugh Cummiskey is my contact with the Irish workers. When necessary, I’ve sent one of the men from the machine shop to fetch him. So the Irish are squatting on more land than any of us realized, and there is a problem. Is that what you’re telling me?”
Daughter of the Loom (Bells of Lowell Book #1) Page 3
