Irish Linen

by Candace McCarthy

  She reached for his hand. “I miss him,” she said.

  “Aye,” Rafferty whispered, his Irish brogue thick with shared pain. “The bugger could always make me laugh when I became too serious. Yer father would say to me, ‘O’Connor! Ye must stop and take a good, laughing look at yerself! Do ye want the bloody Sax’ns to get the better of ya? Laugh first and laugh hard, and ye’ll beat the cruel bastards at their own game.’ ”

  “Aye,” Meghan said softly, “I remember.” She smiled. “He always did think ye were too solemn for your own good.”

  He shifted his hands so that his large fingers engulfed hers. “Meghan, there’s something I have to tell ya,” he began hesitantly.

  “Aye, Rafferty, what is it?” she asked. Was he finally going to confess what bothered him, what had changed him?

  Rafferty gave her hand a squeeze before he let go and stood. “I’ve got employment for ya, Meghan.” He took several steps and faced her.

  “What?” It was the last thing she’d expected to hear.

  “Aye,” he said. “I’ve found ya work. You’ll be working for Mrs. Somerton. Ye should have no trouble at all, for the lady is kind and generous. A girl could do worse than to work in the Big House. Some might even say it’s a plum job.”

  “Employment?” she breathed, startled but not displeased. “What have I been hired to do?”

  “You’re to be Mrs. Somerton’s personal lady’s maid,” Rafferty said with apparent pride in what he’d accomplished for his betrothed. “And ye are to start your position tomorra morning at first light.”

  Thirteen

  The Somerton residence was a breathtaking sight to Meghan. Lush lawns surrounded the spacious three-story home. A large porch flanked the lower level of the newly renovated structure; additions had been built onto the sides and the rear of the house in no particular plan or symmetry. Constructed of stone smoothed over with a coat of white-washed mortar, the Big House had dark green shutters on the upper levels and white shutters on the porch-level windows.

  Ordinarily, Meghan would have been content working in such magnificent and impressive surroundings, but then she hadn’t taken into account the nature of her employer.

  Rafferty had told her that she was to be Mrs. Somerton’s personal maid, but that had changed when the woman, after one long hard look at Meghan, had ap-parendy found her new servant wanting.

  “Can you do anything useful?” Alicia Somerton had inquired in a sneering tone within seconds of their meeting.

  “I can sew. My stitches are neat and even.”

  “Really?” Alicia’s eyes had lit up with interest. “If I put you to altering a gown for me, can you do it?” Her tone suggested that she had little faith in Meghan’s abilities as a seamstress. She had regarded Meghan’s restitched but simple clothing with disdain.

  “Aye, I can do it,” Meghan had answered pleasantly enough. “Me mother turned a fine stitch and she taught me well.” She wasn’t going to judge the lady by their first meeting alone, she’d decided. It was possible the weight of the woman’s duties had put a strain on her good humor.

  But after two full weeks in the Somerton household, Meghan decided that her first impression of Alicia Somerton had been the correct one. Mrs. Somerton was a beautiful, but mean-spirited woman with nothing better to do than create havoc in her servants’ lives. And Meghan had tolerated just about all she could stand from her.

  Meghan did her work in different areas of the house, whatever room that had struck Alicia’s fancy on any given day. Several times Meghan had to bite her tongue when she’d been forced to move to a different floor and drag all her work tools with her. One day Meghan had to transfer the sewing box and three full-skirted fancy gowns which needed repairs from the third floor, where she’d been sewing the day before, to the morning room on the first floor. The arrival of visitors a short time later had made it necessary for Meghan to move everything back upstairs again. When she’d learned that the visitors had been expected, Meghan had been livid, but had hidden her feelings well. A glance at Alicia Somerton’s malicious expression had confirmed what Meghan had suspected: the woman had been playing her nasty games again.

  She was in Mrs. Somerton’s sitting room, altering a gown that looked entirely too young for the woman. Mrs. Somerton had insisted on wearing the garish garment for a neighbor’s dinner party that was fast approaching, and Meghan was certainly not the one to tell her that altered or not the frilly-laced pink gown with ribbons and roses would look ridiculous on a woman of her increasing age. Alicia Somerton, Meghan guessed, was thirty-nine, and sensitive about the issue. Meghan smiled as she tacked on a piece of loose lace. Perhaps she should hint about the youthful appearance of the dress …

  A loud crack from the other room had Meghan setting aside her work, as she recognized the sound. Mrs. Somerton had hit one of the chambermaids again. Bristling, Meghan hurried from the sitting room to the nursery where Lynna had been collecting bed linens, and she paused at the threshold to observe.

  As expected, the young maid stood before her employer, her face red, valiantly holding back tears.

  “I told you to leave the boy’s bed, Lynna!” Mrs. Somerton scolded sharply. “If the boy can’t use the chamberpot, soiling his bed instead, then he can lie in it!”

  Lynna hung her head as she clutched the wet sheets to her chest. When her gaze fell on the little boy who sat facing the corner, Meghan was barely able to control her temper. Fingers clenched into fists, she advanced into the room.

  “Is there something I can help ye with, Mrs. Somerton?” she said, her voice deceptively soft.

  The blond woman spun and stared at her. “Oh, it’s you, Meghan.” She gave her a cursory look. “No,” she said, “you’re not needed here.”

  “Are ye sure, Mrs. Somerton?”

  “Have ye finished with my gown?” she asked, sounding annoyed.

  “No, Mrs. Somerton,” Meghan said.

  “Then I suggest you get back to work!”

  But Meghan didn’t move. She was tired of the way the woman treated her staff of servants, slapping and scolding them for some minor or trumped-up infraction. And she was most incensed by the way Alicia treated her own son.

  Believing Meghan had gone, Alicia had promptly gone back to berating Lynna. Angered beyond caution, Meghan stepped forward and intervened.

  “Mrs. Somerton, the girl was only trying to protect your son,” Meghan said. The woman stiffened before slowly turning around. “Children are easily hurt.”

  Alicia’s face registered shock and then rage at Meghan’s boldness. Her mouth worked as if she were trying to speak, but was unable.

  Unconcerned of the consequences, Meghan gestured for Lynna to leave the room and then gave her employer a sweet smile.

  “How dare you!” Alicia sputtered. “You insolent, filthy Irish lowlife! I want you out of my house. Do you hear me? Out of my house now!”

  “It will be my pleasure to leave.” Meghan executed a respective curtsy that made her former employer’s teeth snap with anger. “Good day to ya, Alicia.”

  “I know I shouldn’t have hired you!” the woman shrieked. “But you were Rafferty’s betrothed, so I gave you a chance!”

  Meghan left the room without answering, passing Lynna as the maid hurried in to comfort her employer. “Lynna, no!” she called, trying to stop her.

  To her dismay, the maid stopped but only to glare at her. “Now you’ve gone and made matters worse, Meghan McBride,” the girl said. “You’ll waltz out of here as uncaring as you can be, while the rest of us have to stay to endure what you’ve left behind!”

  “But I was only trying to help—”

  “We were all doing fine without your help,” Lynna hissed. The maid then hurried into the nursery to comfort her employer and no doubt protect a young boy from his mother’s anger. As she descended the stairs, Meghan could hear Alicia Somerton’s continuing tirade against her.

  “My God!” Alicia was shouting. “What on earth can
he see in her! Why, she’s an ingrate! She’ll be sorry she left here, but it’s no more than she deserves!”

  “Now what will you do?” The housekeeper, Mrs. Wilt, stood in the foyer and studied Meghan with pursed lips as the young Irishwoman came down the stairs. “Where will you work?”

  Meghan’s heart skipped a beat as she realized the consequences of what she’d done. “I don’t know,” she confessed softly.

  Alicia’s shrill voice could be heard at the top of the stairs.

  “You’d best leave now, girl, before the Mrs. sees you,” Mrs. Wilt said. “You wouldn’t want your fiancé to be fired, too.”

  Meghan was horrified. “She’d do that?”

  Mrs. Wilt gave her a look that mocked Meghan’s ignorance.

  “Curse it, girl!” Alicia Somerton could be heard scolding another servant. “I told you not to sweep that way. You’ve missed a spot!”

  “How do you stand to work for that woman?” Meghan asked the housekeeper as she headed toward the door.

  “I’ve my family to feed and clothe. I haven’t a choice,” Mrs. Wilt said.

  And Meghan wondered if she wouldn’t regret her own choice.

  “How could you do it, Meghan?” Rafferty exclaimed. “ ‘Twas a perfectly good position of employment, and ye’ve lost it! What in heavens possessed ya to anger the woman!”

  Meghan was taken aback by Rafferty’s reaction. She’d never seen him so angry before … except with the Sasanaigh. “She’s cruel, Rafferty. She’s mean to the servants and to her own child. I couldn’t stand by and watch it happen one more time. I couldn’t!”

  “Ye’re not in Ireland now, Meghan. Ye’re in America, and ye must learn to be silent even when ever’thing inside ye says otherwise.”

  “She was humiliating her son!”

  Rafferty shook his head. “Ye’ve a heart of gold, but ye cannot take on all the troubles of the wee ones.”

  “I can’t simply stand by and watch, Rafferty.”

  “Ye must learn to!” he bellowed, startling her.

  “Rafferty,” she exclaimed, “I’ll not take your shouting at me!”

  Something flickered across his face before he schooled his features into an expression of apology. “Forgive me, Meggie,” he said softly. “But can ye understand me concern?”

  “Aye,” she whispered.

  “I don’t like the notion, but ye’ll have to work at the textile mill downriver. It’s the only other employment within miles that isn’t hired by the Somertons.”

  Textiles? she thought. “Cloth?” she said aloud, and Rafferty nodded.

  “Cotton,” he said. “Let’s hope that ye’ll be hired by the Gibbons Mill. The only other employment within miles, Meghan, is the black powder mills upriver.”

  Meghan felt a rush of excitement. She knew about the making of cloth. It was a craft taught to her by her dear, departed mother. “Is it far? How will I get there?”

  Rafferty sighed. “If ye get the job, I’ll try to arrange transportation for ya.” He touched her cheek. “Meg, I’m only thinking of yer welfare.”

  “I know,” she said with affection. “Thank ye, Mr. O ’Connor.” She regarded her late father’s best friend and felt a wealth of liking for him. Rafferty was solid and stable, she reminded herself. She could always count on Rafferty.

  “Meghan.” His voice suddenly became intense as he slipped his hand to her shoulder. “Soon, ye’ll be me wife. It’ll be me job to take care of ya. Ye and I have been friends for years. Ye trust that I know what is best for ya, don’t ya?”

  As Meghan nodded, her heart thumped with alarm. She didn’t want to think about marriage yet. She needed to adjust to America. She needed the time to mourn. “Aye, Rafferty, I trust ye. But ye must know that this life is all new to me … the land … the people.” I’m not ready to marry!

  An image of Lucas Ridgely came to mind, and she fought the way her senses swam whenever she thought about him. She had been doing well, managing to put Lucas from her mind for long periods now. But he was back in her thoughts … and in her heart. What was she going to do?

  She should marry Rafferty and forget the man who had rescued and kissed her. Rafferty was dependable and would make her a good husband, while Lucas … Lucas’s intentions were not honorable. He didn’t want a wife. Why was she foolishly longing for something that could never be?

  “I need time before we marry,” she found herself saying.

  “I know ye do, Meghan,” Rafferty said, sounding annoyed. “I’ve waited two years for ya to come, working and saving to bring yer dear father and ya across the sea.”

  She blinked back moisture. “I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t say it to make ye feel bad, Meggie. I wanted ye to know that I, too, miss yer father. Not a minute goes by that I don’t think about me best friend,” he said. “Is it so wrong to want to love and protect his daughter?”

  Meghan shook her head.

  “I’ve waited this long for ya; I can wait a while longer.” Rafferty gave her a slight smile. “But not too long, Meggie. Yer father would approve, ye know that.”

  Would he? she wondered. Thinking back, she recalled the time the betrothal arrangement was made. Rafferty had been grinning when Meghan had come into the cottage at her father’s summons, but Dermot McBride had looked … composed.

  “A few months to get used to me new life is all I need.” But would a few months really make a difference? she wondered. “There’s me new employment to consider,” she told Rafferty.

  His eyes narrowed as he tried to read her thoughts. “Something’s bothering ya. What are ye not telling me?”

  “Nothing,” she said. “I’m telling ye what I feel.” She inhaled sharply before releasing her breath. “Raff, what are a few months in a lifetime?”

  Rafferty’s mouth curved crookedly. “I said I would wait. You’re important to me, Meg. Ye must forgive a man for getting anxious to have his bride. Ye can have a few months, for I’ll have ya for a lifetime.”

  Lifetime, she thought. Why couldn’t she envision a lifetime with Rafferty?

  Fourteen

  The village surrounding the Gibbons Mill was much like Somerville, but the buildings and grounds seemed more friendly to Meghan. It was late November, and Meghan felt the bitter cold as she left her residence for the millwork. Small cottages and other workmen’s homes built to share exterior side walls had been constructed along a road paralleling the creek, not far from the mill buildings which housed the machinery. A covered wooden bridge spanned the waterway, allowing the workers easy access to both sides.

  Meghan steeled herself against a gust of wind as she headed toward the five-story mill building. She’d procured her employment two days past while Rafferty had waited outside for her in a borrowed carriage. She’d been interviewed by the mill foreman, Mr. Simmons, who was pleasant as he outlined the position and its wages.

  There were over one hundred seventy-five people employed at the mill, more than half of them women. Many of the workers lived on the property, boarding at the homes of widows or workers’ families. Meghan’s new home was a room in a house run by Patricia Rhoades. Patty, as Meghan was told to call her, was a widow with three male children, all over the age of thirteen. Two of Patty’s sons worked at the mill in the carding room, while the youngest helped the groom in the stables. Meghan had met the Rhoades boys, who apparently resembled their late father with their red hair and brown eyes.

  Today would be Meghan’s second day in the village and her first day on the job. She hurried to the office to meet the overseer in charge of the weaving room. Familiar with the basic hand loom, which she’d learned from her mother, Meghan was to start by helping the weavers.

  Each floor of the mill building housed a different phase of cotton cloth production. From the bottom level where the picked cotton was sorted and prepared to the uppermost floor where the finished cloth was stored and bagged until it could be transported to the dye house.

  Meghan was put in the capab
le hands of Mari Bright, a friendly young woman, whose smile and disposition matched her surname. The looms on the fourth floor were enormous, much larger than any Meghan had ever seen. At first, she was put to work tying knots and keeping the weavers supplied with thread from the third floor. When a worker had trouble with a broken thread on her loom, it was Meghan who rushed in to help, performing the task without being instructed.

  Meghan liked the work, but not the overseer, Mr. Phelps. There was something about the man that bothered her. Perhaps it was the way some of the other girls cowered whenever he was within distance. Whatever the reason, Meghan didn’t like him.

  Her first personal contact with him came at the end of her second day when he approached her, offering her her own loom. It was a position that many workers in the spinning and dressing rooms coveted, a job with more pay.

  That night, Meghan accepted the position and then returned to Patty’s boardinghouse, excited with the prospect of higher wages. When she told her new friends about Mr. Phelps’s new job offer, they didn’t share her enthusiasm, and Meghan’s excitement waned.

  “What’s wrong with taking the position?” she asked them at the dinner table. “I thought it was a good one.”

  Betsy, her roommate, exchanged glances with Susan Morgan, another boarder, before replying. “It is a good job, Meg,” she said. “It’s just Mr. Phelps …”

  “What about him?” Meghan saw the people at the table glance briefly toward Priscilla, Susan’s roommate. Priscilla’s face appeared more pale than usual, but she otherwise looked composed. Betsy, staring at the girl, seemed unwilling to finish her statement. “I don’t understand,” Meghan said. “Tell me.”

  Susan smiled at Meghan. “It is a good position, Meghan, and I’m sure you’ll do well.”