John furrowed his brows ever so slightly. “Quite frankly, I was thinking more along the lines of the Corporation furnishing me with my own horse and carriage. Of course, you could board them at the livery stable until my house is constructed. Perhaps young Matthew and I could take a look at what they have available at the livery on our way to the boardinghouse.”
“Certainly. Matthew, why don’t you stop at Kittredge’s and see if he has any good horseflesh available? Check about a carriage while you’re there, also.”
Boott and Farnsworth exchanged their good-byes with Farnsworth once again agreeing to read his contract before returning the next morning. Kirk stood on the portico watching after them as they rode off in the carriage, his earlier exuberance seeming to have waned. Matthew could only imagine what thoughts were now flying through his mentor’s mind.
The carriage had barely begun to move when Farnsworth emitted a chuckle. “Well, my boy, how do you think our meeting went?”
Matthew glanced at his companion. He wasn’t sure how to answer the question. He didn’t want to offend Farnsworth in any way—after all, he was an important asset to the Corporation. On the other hand, he didn’t want to appear disloyal to Boott. “I believe it went quite well, Mr. Farnsworth,” Matthew cautiously replied.
Farnsworth laughed a thunderous, reverberating guffaw that seemed to begin at the bottom of his feet and work itself upward until it exploded into the crisp autumn air. “Good for you, Mr. Cheever. It’s a wise man who guards his tongue with a stranger. Now, let’s see if Mr. Kittredge has any horses.”
Matthew yanked back on the reins, pulling the horses to a halt in front of the combined hardware store, wood yard, blacksmith shop, and livery stable. “The livery stable’s out back,” Matthew announced, leading Farnsworth toward the rear. “Would you look at that—what is it, I wonder?” he asked, pointing toward a huge pile of black rocks.
“Quite a mess, I’d say,” Farnsworth replied.
They could hear a number of voices in the blacksmith shop, the noise escalating as they grew nearer. “Appears you threw away forty hard-earned dollars, Kittredge,” one of the men hollered. The comment was followed by boisterous laughter.
Matthew and Farnsworth stood to the rear of the crowd, watching as Jacob Kittredge ignored the guffaws and remained intent on the task at hand. Curious, Matthew edged his way a bit farther in. Moments later he returned to where John was standing. “He’s trying to set fire to some of those black rocks—doesn’t seem to be working.”
Kittredge appeared undaunted as he remained focused upon the task at hand. Soon the observers lost patience and began leaving the building, which allowed John and Matthew adequate space to move closer. The black rocks were piled in an open grate, where Kittredge was doggedly attempting to set them on fire.
“You ain’t never gonna get them things to burn,” Henry Likens called from the back of the shop. “You shoulda never believed that lawyer from Salem.”
Kittredge didn’t acknowledge the remark. In fact, he acted as though he were alone in the room. Matthew strode back to where Henry stood. “Why’s he trying to burn those rocks, Henry?”
“Some lawyer from up in Salem told him about black rocks from Pennsylvania that are supposed to burn. Said they could be used for fuel instead of wood. So ol’ Jacob, he ordered two tons—forty dollars worth. Now he can’t even get a spark going with ’em. He would have gotten more heat from setting his money afire.”
When Matthew returned, Farnsworth was standing beside Jacob Kittredge, using a hammer to break up the black rocks. Jacob was now starting a fire with tinder and several larger pieces of wood. Once the fire was going, Farnsworth and Kittredge began placing the broken black rocks upon the fire until they’d covered the wood fire with two bushels of the small rocks. Matthew was amazed as he watched the rocks begin to take on a reddish-orange glow, the fire growing hotter by the minute. The horses, obviously sensing the fire and increasing heat, became skittish, kicking at their stalls, snorting, and neighing until several men rushed to get water to douse the hot coals. Still the fire continued. Finally Henry directed the men into a bucket brigade, and after several attempts they were able to exact enough water to calm the coals from a raging fire to glowing embers.
“What kind of rocks are those?” Matthew’s voice was filled with amazement.
“Coal,” Farnsworth simply replied. “Quite a fuel. My guess is that one day it will replace wood. Now, then, do you suppose Mr. Kittredge might be able to assist us with a horse since the excitement has died down a bit?”
“I’m certain he would be pleased to do so. After all, you certainly came to his rescue when the others were willing to stand back and laugh.”
By the time Matthew and John Farnsworth left the livery stable, John was the proud owner of a fine black mare and a carriage that any man would be pleased to own. He was also the recipient of Jacob Kittredge’s abiding loyalty.
“You can rest assured that your horse will receive the best of care, Mr. Farnsworth. Anytime you want your horse and carriage, you just send someone down here to tell me. I’ll make sure it’s ready at the appointed time. You’ve got my word on that, sir,” Jacob said as he walked alongside his departing customers. “I can’t thank you enough for helping me out. I was beginning to think I had been bamboozled out of my money. I fear the townsfolk wouldn’t have permitted me to live down such an error.”
“You are welcome, Mr. Kittredge, but I’m sure you would have finally compared the coal to tinder and wood, realizing that the smaller chunks might burn more easily. It appears as if you made a sound investment.”
Kittredge nodded. “Thankfully so. And you’ve made a sound investment in that mare. She’s a beauty.”
Farnsworth shook Kittredge’s outstretched hand and hoisted himself into the carriage while Matthew took up the reins. “I feel certain that by nightfall the good citizenry of Lowell will be well acquainted with the name of John Farnsworth,” Matthew said as they moved down the street.
“Notoriety is the last thing I’m seeking,” Farnsworth muttered. “Where are we off to now?”
“Number 7 Jackson Street. It’s the boardinghouse operated by Miss Mintie Beecher. We selected Miss Beecher’s house as she is reputed to operate the best boardinghouse in the city of Lowell. I’m told there are men who have offered to pay a handsome sum for room and board with Miss Mintie.”
“In that case, how does it happen that there’s a space available?” John inquired with a twinkle in his eye.
“One of the men was willing to give up his bed.”
John’s eyebrows arched and his lips gathered into a thoughtful pucker. “Really? In exchange for what?”
“A tidy sum of money, combined with the promise he would receive the next available opening at Miss Mintie’s.”
“I see. Well, then, let us hope that it won’t take too long for my house to be completed. After all, I don’t want to be the cause of a man being forced to give up his bed.”
“There was no forcing involved, Mr. Farnsworth. The gentleman understood it would most likely be a good span of time before he returned to Miss Mintie’s. All of the men are aware that boarders just don’t leave her house, and I was forthright in explaining that the Corporation had not yet begun construction of your house.”
“All the same, we’ll see if we can’t rush things along. Right, my boy?”
There was no doubt that Farnsworth’s figurative use of we was directed at Matthew. “Yes, sir, I’ll do my level best.”
“And call me John. ‘Mr. Farnsworth’ is a bit formal for the two of us, wouldn’t you agree?”
“If that’s your preference, Mister, uh, John,” he quickly corrected.
Farnsworth grinned and nodded his head. “That’s my preference. I’ve been thinking it might serve us well if I deposited my trunks at the boardinghouse, and then you and I could take a short tour of the area. You could point out land that might be suitable for my house.”
Boott ha
dn’t discussed the possibility of such a tour with either of the men. And, Matthew concluded, Farnsworth hadn’t mentioned his idea of a tour with Boott before departing, either. He didn’t want to overstep his boundaries with Boott, yet he didn’t want to appear unwilling to assist Farnsworth. After all, Boott would be unhappy if Farnsworth conveyed any displeasure with his welcome to Lowell.
“It appears I’ve caused you a bit of a quandary,” Farnsworth said as they arrived at Mintie Beecher’s boardinghouse. “The tour can wait until you’ve had an opportunity to seek Mr. Boott’s approval.”
“I’ll . . .”
Farnsworth held up his hand. “No need to apologize, my boy. Your first loyalty must be to Mr. Boott and his instructions. I understand. Now, let’s see what the Beecher boardinghouse has to offer.”
Each of the men lifted a trunk out of the carriage and placed them near the front step. Matthew rapped on the door and waited. Moments later he was greeted by Mintie Beecher. To say it was a warm welcome would have been untruthful, for the woman’s welcome was meager and aloof. She stared in unabashed curiosity for several moments.
“Miss Mintie Beecher,” Matthew introduced, unable to deal with the silence, “this is Mr. John Farnsworth.”
“Well, at least you’re prompt,” she said, frowning. Her pinched expression led Matthew to believe she was less than pleased with this change to her orderly home.
“Well, bring your things,” she said as she turned and headed for the stairs.
Matthew noted that she didn’t even wait to see if they were following. He hurriedly lifted the trunk at his feet and threw an apologetic glance toward Farnsworth. “Guess we’d better get to it.”
Farnsworth chuckled and hoisted the other trunk to his back. “It’s clear she’s the no-nonsense sort.”
“To say the least,” Matthew murmured, fighting to balance his load and clear the door.
Miss Beecher led the way to the upstairs bedrooms, pointed out Mr. Farnsworth’s bed, chest, and allotted floor space for his trunks, then retreated back down the steps. The men placed the trunks along the wall and quickly followed behind. It seemed the expected thing to do.
“This is the parlor,” Mintie announced. “You can have guests until ten o’clock in the evening, but no women on the second floor. Dining room,” she said as she continued marching them through the house. “Dining chairs are not assigned. Pick whichever one is available. I expect my boarders to use proper manners, and I’ll not tolerate any profanity in my house. No spitting on the floor. No boisterous talk or crude stories. No singing, unless of course we’re having a musical night, and then you’re allowed to sing in the parlor but nowhere else.” She gave Farnsworth a stern, almost reprimanding look, as though the man had already sinned against the rules.
Matthew would have laughed out loud at the sight of this tiny but very determined old woman laying down the rules and regulations to a man twice her size, but he knew it would only serve to aggravate the situation.
Miss Beecher continued, “The house supplies clean sheets. If you want any other laundry done, you’ll have to pay extra like the rest of my boarders. I’ll expect you to take a bath at least once a week. I won’t have smelly men stinking up my house.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Farnsworth replied. “Seems quite reasonable.”
The older woman paused and assessed him momentarily. Again she eyed him, as if trying to ascertain some deep, mysterious truth. “The other house rules are posted by the door.” She pointed a bony finger toward the front of the house, then proceeded to push up the wire-rim spectacles that now rested on the tip of her beaklike nose.
“If I didn’t know better, Miss Mintie, I’d swear that you just got off the ship from England, too,” Farnsworth said as he tried out one of the wooden dining room chairs before moving to another.
Mintie’s eyes opened wide at the remark. “My name is Miss Beecher, and that’s the most preposterous thing I’ve ever heard,” she sputtered. “I’ve never set foot on the soil of England and shall never do so!”
“Really? You have that same disquieting aloofness so many of my countrymen hold dear. I thought you surely must have deep roots in the homeland.”
Matthew watched as Mintie’s cheeks flushed bright pink. He thought for a moment she might actually have a spell of apoplexy. She hesitated only a moment, however, before regaining her composure.
“In that case you should feel right at home, Mr. Farnsworth. I’ll make every attempt to maintain my temperament so that you may continue to feel as though you’re still in the bosom of your motherland,” she replied, her features strained into a tight frown.
Farnsworth’s face crinkled into a bright smile as he pulled a pipe from the pocket of his wool jacket. “Of that I have no doubt, Miss Mintie . . . excuse me, Miss Beecher.”
Chapter 5
Mintie Beecher pulled back the heavy drapes that covered the dining room windows. There was just enough time to finish dusting the remainder of the downstairs rooms before preparing the noonday meal. Adjusting her spectacles, she peered across the street and smiled in satisfaction. Her sister hadn’t pulled back the drapes in number 5. Mintie prided herself on being an efficient woman. It had served her well as her father’s hostess in their Boston home, and although assuming the position of a boardinghouse keeper in Lowell wasn’t to her liking, efficiency had continued to serve her well in this new post.
On the other hand, she seriously doubted whether Adelaide would ever develop any of the necessary skills to operate a smoothly run boardinghouse. Having carefully dusted the windowsills, Mintie began to move away from her vantage point. A blond-haired girl, bonnet askew and satchels in hand, was moving toward Adelaide’s front door. Another one! How many chances would her sister receive? It was one thing when boardinghouse vacancies occurred due to circumstances beyond the control of the keepers. It was quite another when the tenants departed due to the ineptness of a keeper. And depart from Adelaide’s house they had, like mice fleeing a fire.
Mintie had warned her sister of the consequences of her lackadaisical attitude. Of course, Adelaide continually insisted she was doing her very best, but Mintie knew better. Adelaide had never attended to the important duties of running the Judge’s household, always running off to a piano lesson or dress fitting. The work had always fallen to Mintie. The Beecher sisters had been the Martha and Mary of Lexington Street, at least from Mintie’s martyred perspective.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t time for her to both personally investigate the new boarder at Adelaide’s house and have the noonday meal on the table as planned. Curiosity was one vice that Mintie had failed to overcome—that, along with giving unsolicited advice. Still, she thought, someone of wisdom and etiquette should be available to advise those who were less knowledgeable. Helping one’s neighbor could hardly be seen as a vice.
Putting the matter behind her, Mintie called out, “Lucy, come here this minute.”
The child came running on spindle-thin legs, jerking herself to an abrupt halt directly in front of Mintie’s freshly starched white apron.
“How many times have I told you not to run in the house?” Mintie nodded with satisfaction when the child visibly shrunk back at her words. “It’s beyond me how you manage to work as a doffer in the mill. It’s a wonder you haven’t been mangled by one of those machines. You absolutely never follow instructions.”
“I’m supposed to run at the mill, Miss Mintie—the faster, the better. Then, when I come to help you serve meals, I have to remember to slow down. Sometimes I have trouble remembering.”
“Well, that much is obvious. I want you to go across the street to my sister’s boardinghouse. Tell Miss Beecher I need to borrow some darning thread.”
“I saw some in your sewing basket just yesterday. I’ll run and get it.”
“Lucy, I said I need to borrow some darning thread. I don’t give two whits what you saw yesterday. While you’re there, you may discreetly inquire as to any new boarders. Now get yo
urself across the street!”
The child snapped out of her wide-eyed stare, turned on her heel, and rushed toward the door. The corners of Mintie’s mouth turned up ever so slightly. I’ll get that girl trained if it’s the last thing I do!
The potatoes had been peeled and set to boil when the front door slammed, quickly followed by Lucy rushing into the kitchen. Leaning forward to catch her breath, the child extended her hand upward. A piece of limp thread dangled in midair.
An exasperated hurrumph escaped Mintie’s lips. “She sent you back with that little piece of thread?”
Lucy nodded and extended her hand just a bit higher. “Miss Beecher said to tell you that she didn’t bother to send more than a snippet because she knew you didn’t really need the thread,” Lucy panted.
Mintie could feel the heat rise in her cheeks. “What did you say, young lady? You told her I had thread in my basket, didn’t you?”
“No, ma’am. Miss Beecher said you pride yourself on keeping stocked. She said she’s never known you to run out of anything and that you just send me over there when you’re snooping for information. She said to tell you that you’re invited for a cup of tea this afternoon if you’d like to meet one of her new boarders.”
“Boarders? How many new girls has the Corporation sent her?”
The child shrugged her shoulders. “Two or three, I think,” she replied.
Mintie dismissed the child with a wave of her arm and turned back to her dinner preparations. How dare her sister pass such acerbic words through a mere serving girl? It was no wonder the Judge hadn’t trusted Adelaide with the supervision of servants. Well, she would go to tea this afternoon—of that there was no doubt.
An hour later, the scraping of chairs and sound of footsteps announced that the men had finished their noon meal and were heading back to the mills. The older woman nodded at Lucy, and the two of them entered the dining room and began removing the dishes. Mintie glanced up from the table as John Farnsworth paused and turned her way.
Daughter of the Loom (Bells of Lowell Book #1) Page 6
