Daughter of the Loom (Bells of Lowell Book #1)

by Tracie Peterson

  “The funding has been arranged for additional mills,” Kirk said as they neared Pawtucket Falls. “We’re going to begin work on another canal this spring, as soon as the ground has thawed sufficiently. Which means additional work for Hugh and his Irishmen. There’s certainly been no lack of work for them when the weather cooperates. I worry about problems through the winter, though. Idle hands can breed problems. Speaking of which, you know how disappointed I was with the bishop’s decision to delay his visit.”

  Matthew moved his horse ahead of Boott’s, leading the way through a thick stand of leafless trees. “I understand, but we can’t move forward with building a church during the dead of winter, either. There are plans to send a priest for Christmas mass. That should help.”

  Shots rang out in the distance, and Matthew tightened the hold on his reins. “Someone hunting for dinner, I suspect,” he said, glancing over his shoulder and then shifting in his saddle to gain a better view.

  Boott fought to control his gelding, but the horse reared and dumped Kirk off the back. After hitting the ground, Boott didn’t so much as try to get out of the way of the stomping horse.

  “Whoa there, boy,” Matthew called out to the horse in a reassuring tone. Turning his own horse, Matthew approached slowly, not wanting to startle Boott’s horse, and grabbed the reins. Another shot echoed in the distance, followed by the sound of pounding hooves. Somebody was hunting, but not for dinner. Matthew jumped down from his horse, holding fast to both sets of reins. Trying to take shelter among the trees, he looked off into the distance, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone, wanting to make sense of what was happening. He looked to where Boott lay on the ground. There was no movement, no sign of life. “Mr. Boott, can you hear me?” he called.

  There was no answer. Crawling closer, Matthew could see that there was blood along Boott’s temple. Apparently he’d hit his head when the horse had thrown him. Another cursory glance revealed a telltale reddish stain on Kirk’s pant leg. He’d been shot! Matthew had to get Kirk to a doctor. Struggling under Boott’s weight, he lifted the man into his arms and then hoisted him onto the horse. Then Matthew held the older man in the saddle while mounting up behind him. He pulled his own horse along by the reins. Every muscle in his body was stretched taut, anxiously awaiting the next shot, expecting to feel his flesh torn open by the searing pain of a lead ball. He urged the horse onward, praying they would be safe.

  The ride into town seemed endless, the heaviness of Kirk’s body constantly shifting to and fro. The horse was unaccustomed to carrying two riders and was now pulling against the reins. The horse’s skittishness and the blood that now stained Kirk’s breeches and coat caused Matthew to wonder if they would arrive before his boss was dead.

  A short time later, he dismounted in front of Dr. Fontaine’s office and carefully pulled Kirk off the horse. “Give me a hand,” he called to a group of Irishmen ambling down the street. “Mr. Boott’s been shot.”

  Once Kirk was in the office, Dr. Fontaine took charge. He insisted Matthew immediately inform Mrs. Boott of Kirk’s condition. “And don’t bring her back here to the office. I don’t need to perform surgery with a weepy wife looking over my shoulder,” he warned. No doubt Mrs. Boott would be distraught, and Matthew had no idea how to handle such a situation. He thought of Lilly but immediately rejected that thought. A mill girl calling upon Anne Boott, relating ill-fated news of her husband? Never. But then he thought of his mother. It would be only a short distance farther to stop by home and ask that she accompany him.

  Julia Cheever was delighted Matthew had sought her council and assistance, and once they arrived at the Boott residence, she quickly shooed him away, insisting that he could be of little help. “We’ll prepare things here at the house. You go back to Dr. Fontaine’s office and make yourself available to transport Mr. Boott home once his wounds are tended,” Julia instructed.

  Matthew wasn’t sure Dr. Fontaine would be sending Kirk home any too quickly. In fact, he wasn’t sure if Kirk was still alive—but he wasn’t about to inform the two women of his fears.

  ****

  A beaming Addie sat surrounded by all of her young boarders as well as Mintie and John Farnsworth. “What a perfect birthday this has been,” she said.

  “And it’s not over yet,” Prudence said, placing a forkful of birthday cake in her mouth. “We’re pleased your birthday is on Sunday; that way we can celebrate all afternoon, can’t we?”

  There was a declaration of agreement among the girls. Mintie, however, appeared a bit nonplussed at the amount of attention being showered upon her sister. “The Judge didn’t approve of birthday parties,” Mintie commented unpleasantly.

  “But he always bought us a special gift for our birthday,” Addie replied. “It was Mother who disliked birthdays.”

  John drew a bit closer to where Addie sat. “Speaking of presents,” he said, holding out a package, “I hope you’ll accept this along with my very best wishes for your special day.”

  Addie gave him a smile. “Why, John, you shouldn’t have bought me anything.”

  Mintie’s lips shriveled up tighter than a prune. She crossed her arms across her bosom and glared in Addie’s direction. “You’re right—he shouldn’t have purchased a gift. It’s inappropriate.”

  However, her comment went unheeded. The girls gathered around, watching as Addie’s plump fingers untied the brown cord and peeled away the paper. Nestled inside the wrapping were two tortoiseshell combs.

  “They’re beautiful, John,” she said, her cheeks flushed as she held out the combs for the girls to see.

  “I can’t take all the credit for choosing them,” he said. “Lilly accompanied me into town a couple weeks ago and assisted with my choice.”

  A spark of recognition shone in Addie’s eyes. “She went with you one evening after dinner, didn’t she? Probably the night of the temperance meeting,” Addie said, turning her gaze toward Mintie.

  “I don’t know about the temperance meeting, but we did go after dinner,” John replied. “We managed to keep our secret from you, however. I swore Lilly to secrecy, and she was true to her word.”

  Addie met Lilly’s gaze. “She certainly was. I never suspected she had gone with you to purchase a birthday gift. You would never have suspected such a thing, either, would you, Mintie?” Addie inquired, turning toward her sister.

  Mintie glowered and shifted in her chair. “You’re not going to accept those combs, are you? What would the Judge think of a man purchasing such a gift for you? It’s improper, that’s what it is,” Mintie retorted, adjusting her shawl more tightly around her neck.

  “I am going to accept them, Mintie. And quite happily, I might add. As for the Judge, I don’t know what he would say, and quite frankly, I don’t care.”

  Mintie’s eyebrows arched high on her forehead, and her mouth opened to form a large oval. A loud knocking at the front door interrupted whatever retort may have been upon her lips.

  Lawrence Gault entered the room, his gentle composure visibly shaken. “John, come quick. I’ve received word that Kirk Boott and Matthew Cheever were riding near Pawtucket Falls, and they’ve been shot. They’re at Dr. Fontaine’s office. I was told it might have been an ambush.”

  John quickly donned his coat and hat. “Someone intentionally shot Mr. Boott and Matthew? Why would anyone do such a thing?”

  Lilly hurried along behind the two men, her hand at her throat. “Wait, Mr. Farnsworth, I want to accompany you,” she called after him. He turned and gave her a questioning look. “I’ve known Matthew since we were children.”

  He nodded. “Come along, then,” he said, taking hold of her arm.

  Lilly felt her heart begin to race. What if Matthew were dead? The very thought brought her more pain than she could have imagined. He couldn’t be dead. He just couldn’t be.

  Her feelings didn’t so much surprise her as worry her. She did still have feelings for Matthew Cheever. Feelings that went far beyond that of merely caring f
or his well-being. She hoped neither man would die from such an attack but felt honest grief at the thought of Matthew being wounded.

  They arrived at Dr. Fontaine’s office in record time, the three of them breathing heavily when they finally entered the doctor’s office. Lilly’s eyes widened at the sight of Matthew pacing about the doctor’s front door. He wasn’t hurt. She didn’t know whether to hug him or scream at him for worrying her.

  John quickly extended his hand toward Matthew. “We heard you’d been shot. I’m pleased to see that we received a false report. What about Mr. Boott? Was he injured?”

  Matthew gave them a grim look. “I’m afraid that report is true. Dr. Fontaine is with him. He was shot while we were out riding. His horse reared, and Boott fell and hit his head. He didn’t regain consciousness. It appeared serious, but I’m not an authority on such things. Mrs. Boott is expecting me to transport him home once the doctor has finished with him.”

  “I could use some assistance in here,” Dr. Fontaine called out from the other room.

  Lilly watched as the men exchanged glances. Matthew seemed to pale at the request. “I’ll go,” John replied. “Lawrence, why don’t you get word to the other Associates. They’ll want to know.”

  “I could do that,” Matthew offered.

  John furrowed his brow and gave a negative nod. “Mrs. Boott will be expecting to hear from you. It’s best you remain here.”

  The moment both men were out of earshot, Lilly turned on her heel and faced Matthew. “You don’t even bear a scratch,” she remarked with relief.

  “I didn’t know you cared so much,” Matthew said, his voice bearing a hint of amusement.

  Lilly’s anger flared to mask her embarrassment. She hadn’t known that little fact, either, but she wasn’t about to let Matthew believe she cared.

  “Were you hoping for sympathy? Is that why I received a message you’d been shot? Do you realize how frightening it is to hear such a report?”

  Matthew gave her a smile. “I didn’t send out any report, Lilly, but if I had realized it would bring you running to me, I might have done so. Your appearance serves to prove what I’ve already told you.”

  She glared in his direction and folded her arms. “And what might that be?”

  “That you’re still in love with me.”

  “I am not in love with you. Right at this moment, I don’t even like you,” she sputtered. “The fact that you would flatter yourself with such a notion is . . . is . . .”

  “Marvelous? Enchanting? Wonderful? We’re meant to be together, Lilly. You know it and so do I,” he said, reaching out to draw her into his arms.

  “I suggest you stop right there, Matthew Cheever, or the story going about town that you’ve sustained an injury will be true,” Lilly said, pulling out of his grasp. Confusion made reasonable thought impossible. I’m not in love. I’m not.

  Lilly hurried from the house and walked back to the boardinghouse, angry that she’d once again given Matthew reason to believe she still cared for him. Even if she did.

  But I don’t, she told herself, desperate to push aside any doubt. I reacted that way only because we’ve known each other forever. I don’t care for him. I could never . . . love . . . him.

  Such a possibility was out of the question, for she could never align herself with a man who was intent on forcing industrialization upon the farmlands of New England. It seemed as though no matter how much she prayed about her life and the miserable takeover by the Associates, God was continually confronting and challenging her to accept the changes. She didn’t want to, yet within her heart she knew she must.

  After all, others had. Some people were quite happy with the change, as she’d heard that night at tea. Some people were thriving, excited, joyous even at the prosperity that had come their way. The girls she lived with were grateful for the opportunity to come in from their farms and poorer country life. They thrived on earning money for themselves and while some sent home most of their pay, others were living quite nicely, dining out and buying new clothes.

  Lilly looked down the street, seeing the mills in the distance. The mills had given this community new life. Lowell wasn’t her beloved farm community. Instead the simple country maiden had grown into a sassy, citified woman of the world. And to Lilly’s sorrow, it appeared people were beginning to accept—even embrace—the change.

  “Things will never be the same,” she murmured.

  “All things change in time—some for the good, some for the bad. But change they will.” The words had been spoken to Lilly by her mother. She sighed. “Oh, Mama, things have changed, and I don’t know how to change with them. It hurts so much to know you’re gone—that Father and the farm are gone.” Wiping a tear from her eye, Lilly bolstered her courage and approached the boardinghouse. I have to be strong, she told herself. But inside, she found little strength to draw on.

  Prudence and Marmi hastened into the hallway upon her return. “How badly are they injured? Is Matthew . . .” Marmi hesitantly inquired.

  “Matthew is fine. He wasn’t injured. Mr. Boott was shot, but the wound wasn’t fatal. The doctor was operating when I left.” Lilly pulled off her bonnet and set it aside.

  “That’s certainly good news,” a familiar voice commented.

  Lilly turned. “What are you doing here, Lewis? Did you have anything to do with this?” she whispered as she pretended to draw him into an affectionate embrace.

  “Dear sister. Why would I be involved in such an incident? How can you think such a thing of your brother?” he whispered in return.

  “Quite easily,” Lilly responded as she moved away from him and turned toward Prudence. “Don’t give him any of your money, Prudence. He’s been calling on at least two other girls who have been buying him gifts, also. If you don’t believe me, I’ll give you their names, and you can verify what I’m saying. Lewis is a cad who will do nothing but hurt you. It pains me to tell you this, Pru. If you continue keeping company with him, he’ll take every cent you have, and then you’ll never hear from him again. Please heed my words,” she begged her friend before leaving the hallway and making her way upstairs.

  That night, Lilly again tried to find solace in her Bible reading. A troubling thought flittered through her mind. If I’m going to rejoice in Kirk Boott’s downfall, I would have to rejoice in the possibility of Matthew’s, as well. The thought of him bloodied and dying actually brought tears to her eyes.

  I don’t want anything bad to happen to Matthew. Whether or not there exists hope for us to remain friends, I don’t want him hurt. But the destruction of the mill and all that he’s worked for would hurt him, she thought.

  Fearfully, like a child about to be reprimanded, she opened the Bible. She flipped through the pages, heading for the back of the book. There was no way she wanted to get stuck in Proverbs again.

  Colossians seemed a safe distance away, so she focused her attention on the third chapter. The second and third verses went straight to her heart.

  “Set your affection on things above, not on things on the earth. For ye are dead, and your life is hid with Christ in God.”

  God, Lilly prayed, I don’t fully know what this verse means. In some ways, I’ve placed my affection on the earth—on the way things used to be. I’m mourning the past, the loss of my loved ones, the hope of things remaining the same. I want to understand your Word, but it seems every time I open it, I’m just that much more confused. Please help me.

  ****

  Shortly after breakfast the next morning, a knock sounded at the front door. Addie knew it was Mintie coming to further chastise her about the combs she’d accepted from John Farnsworth. For a moment she considered not answering the door, but experience had taught her Mintie would persist. “I don’t have time to sit and visit, Mintie,” Addie said as she pulled open the door.

  “What kind of greeting is that? Living in this hamlet has caused you to lose all sense of proper etiquette,” Mintie chided after pushing her way throu
gh the door and stomping snow off her feet. “It’s difficult to believe it could snow through the night after that beautiful day we had yesterday.”

  “I’m surprised you’d be out in such weather,” Addie replied as she headed off toward the kitchen.

  “Where are you going? I don’t want to sit out in the kitchen,” Mintie said.

  Addie glanced over her shoulder. “I told you I was busy. I’m paring apples, and I can’t do that in the parlor.” She heard Mintie’s hurrump and sigh of exasperation but chose to ignore both.

  “I have news,” Mintie said, seating herself in one of the straight-backed wooden chairs.

  Addie didn’t comment.

  “Did you hear me? I have news,” Mintie repeated.

  “I heard you. And I have no doubt you’re going to tell me every word of it.”

  It was obvious Mintie chose to ignore her sister’s sarcasm. “I sent Lucy to pick up a few supplies this morning. There’s word about town that the Irish are responsible for shooting Kirk Boott. Folks are saying the Irish are upset over their living conditions in the Paddy camps. I think that’s a bunch of nonsense. The Irish have always appeared to enjoy living in squalor.”

  “And I’m sure you’d be an authority on what the Irish enjoy,” Addie muttered.

  “Speak up! I couldn’t hear you,” Mintie admonished.

  “Nothing, Mintie, I didn’t say a thing.”

  Mintie nodded and moved her chair closer to the fire. “I’ll tell you what I think. I’m convinced it’s the English. They’re trying to find a way to stop the production of cloth here in New England. They fear a decline of our imports from them.”

  “Goodness, Mintie, the Tariff of Abominations has already dealt imports a heavy blow. The English goods are taxed very high and . . .”