“My clerk tells me you’ve brought a note from Mr. Brownell, as well as a letter of recommendation.” When she nodded, he leaned forward and extended his hand. “I’ll take a look at them.”
Mellie retrieved the missives from her reticule and passed them across the desk. She remained silent while he examined the letters. He hadn’t introduced himself or asked for her name. He hadn’t even offered for her to sit down. Was that a bad sign?
“So, Miss Blanchard, I see you come highly recommended as a tutor.” He looked up from the letter. “What experience do you have working in a textile mill?”
“None.” She cleared her throat. “I told Mr. Brownell I didn’t have any experience. He said good moral character was of greater import.”
Mr. Walters wiped the perspiration from his forehead. “While our girls must be of good moral character, it’s always pleasing if they come to us with some measure of skill. However, you’ve been working as a teacher, so you’re obviously well educated and most likely a quick learner. Am I right?”
“I like to think I’m capable, Mr. Walters.”
He shifted in his chair and gestured for her to sit down. “Tell me, Miss—” he hesitated and glanced at the letter again—“Blanchard. Why is a young lady of your education seeking work in the mills? You appear to be a woman of means.” He touched his lapel. “The quality of your clothing far surpasses what my employees would own.”
Mellie folded her hands and placed them in her lap. “My family has fallen upon difficult times and I’ve had to step forward. I can be of greater help to them by working here than continuing in my tutoring position.”
“Well, I suppose that’s your decision, but you’ll find working in the mills more demanding than tutoring children.” He opened a thick ledger and traced his finger down the page. “You should report to Mr. Fuqua in the morning. He’s the overseer of the weaving rooms in Mill Number Two.”
“The five-story building?”
He nodded. “There are over five hundred looms in the number-two mill, where we produce sheeting and drilling. You’ll be expected to operate more than one loom, of course. Mr. Fuqua will see that you receive the proper training.” He penned a note and handed it to her. “Give that note to Mr. Fuqua when you report tomorrow. He’ll have you sign the regulations and file it here in the office. I hope Mr. Brownell told you that we require a commitment of one year.”
“He did.” She folded the note and tucked it back into her reticule. “He also told me to report to Mrs. Richards’s boardinghouse. I’ve already done so.”
Mr. Walters nodded. “I hope she had a bed available for you. Mrs. Richards is one of our best boardinghouse keepers. Unlike many others, she keeps impeccable records.”
“I believe I’ll be sharing an attic room with some of the other girls.”
“Good, good! I’m sure you’ll be quite comfortable there. No doubt she has other boarders who work at Number Two. You can have one of them direct you to Mr. Fuqua in the morning.” He withdrew a watch from the pocket of his bulging vest. “I wish you the best in your employment with Stark Mills, Miss Blanchard. Put forth your best effort and you’ll be rewarded. Good day to you.”
“Good day to you as well, Mr. Walters.” She glanced over her shoulder when she reached the office door. “And thank you for your time.”
When Mr. Walters didn’t acknowledge her final comment, Mellie hurried from the room and through the clerk’s office without a backward look. By the time she passed through the iron gates, her fears had lessened considerably. She offered a silent prayer of thanks that the meeting with Mr. Walters had gone well, with one of her favorite hymns having bolstered her strength.
She’d accomplished what she came here to do. Secure a position that would help support her sister, Margaret, and her children. Along with the tutoring wages her sister would earn back in Concord, Mellie’s contribution should add enough for them to get by. She stopped short. She hadn’t inquired about wages—and Mr. Walters hadn’t mentioned the rate of pay.
While Mr. Brownell had declared the pay for a mill girl would far exceed what she’d been earning in Concord, he hadn’t been specific. Instead, he’d touted the fact that all of the mill girls had ample funds to purchase fine clothes and still help support their families at home. Eager to find a solution to Margaret’s financial woes, she’d taken Mr. Brownell at his word. She now hoped her trust hadn’t been misplaced.
Perhaps Mr. Fuqua was the one who set the wages for his employees. She’d be certain to inquire before she signed the paper work. Thus far, it seemed as if rules and regulations were more important than wages—at least to those who ran things in the town.
A stiff breeze whipped Mellie’s skirts as she rounded the corner and began her ascent to the boardinghouse. Using one hand to hold her skirts, she used the other to hold her bonnet tight to her head. Come winter, a breeze such as this one would chill to the bone. For now, she would enjoy the fresh air and warm August sunshine and put aside thoughts of traversing this distance several times a day in rain, sleet, or snow.
“I see you’ve made it back.” Mrs. Richards stood on the front stoop, clutching the wooden handle of a straw broom. “Did all go well? You secured a position?” She swiped several leaves from the doorstep. “Try as I may, I can’t keep this stoop clean. What I don’t sweep away ends up getting tracked in by the girls.”
“With this wind, it’s a never-ending task, I’m sure.” Mellie followed the older woman inside. “I’m not exactly sure what work I’ll be doing, but I’m to report to the overseer at Stark Mill Number Two tomorrow morning.”
“Good for you.” She gestured to the stairway. “Come on in. Your trunks arrived, and I had them carried upstairs. The drayman was none too happy. He said if he’d known there were two sets of stairs, he would have charged you more.”
“I’m sorry. I hope he didn’t badger you.”
The older woman chuckled. “I’ve been dealing with the likes of that drayman for years. I handed him a couple of biscuits and he was happy enough. However, the girls you’ll be rooming with in the attic may be a mite unhappy with you.”
“Why?” A pang of uneasiness assailed her.
The keeper stopped in the small foyer and looked back at Mellie. “I’ve never had anyone arrive with so much baggage. Usually the girls come here with a small trunk and maybe a bandbox. Your two big trunks and bandboxes filled most of the empty space in the room. It’s going to be a tight fit for the five of you and all your belongings.”
“I didn’t realize.” Mellie caught her bottom lip between her teeth. She didn’t want to start off on a poor footing with the other girls, but she hadn’t known she’d be sharing a small attic room with four other boarders. The very thought gave her pause. She was accustomed to a large airy room that overlooked a beautiful garden, where she would sit at her writing desk and journal the day’s activities. A room with pale blue walls, yellow flowered draperies, two large chifforobes, and a chest of drawers in which to store her things.
“This room to the left as you come in is my bedroom, and the parlor is also considered a part of my living quarters. However, I do permit the girls to use it from time to time if they’re entertaining special company. There’s another small room off the kitchen that was once used for kitchen help or an extra boarder, but we’re now required to keep a sickroom.” She furrowed her brows. “You don’t have lung problems, do you?”
Mellie shook her head. “No, I’m quite healthy.”
The older woman nodded. “Lots of the girls have breathing problems once they start working in the mills. When we had the cholera epidemic hit last year, they added a new requirement to our regulations. Sick girls have to sleep in a room away from the others.” She grasped the railing and started up the steps. “Come. I’ll show you the rest of the place.”
She followed Mrs. Richards up the remaining steps and down a narrow hallway bordered by closed doors. Near the end of the hall, Mrs. Richards made a sharp turn and opened
a door leading to an even narrower set of stairs. Little wonder the drayman had been upset. Mellie couldn’t imagine how he’d gotten her trunks up the narrow passage.
Mrs. Richards tapped the back side of the door. “Last one down in the morning makes sure to close the door, and the last one up at night does the same. Heat rises. It gets too warm up there in the summer with the door open. Come winter, the girls down here complain all the heat is going to the attic and they get too cold.”
Mellie wondered how the attic was to be warmed during the winter if the door was closed, but she didn’t ask. When colder weather arrived, she’d inquire. For now, the windows could be opened to provide a breeze.
“Here we are.” Mrs. Richards took only a few steps into the attic before she bent forward and breathed heavily. “Those stairs are going to be the death of me.”
Mellie’s eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light. Stale air permeated the space. Two dormer windows, the only source of light and ventilation, were closed tight. “Perhaps if you opened the windows, the fresh air would help your breathing, Mrs. Richards.”
“Windows remain closed during the days you girls are at work. They can be left open in the evenings and on Sundays beginning the end of May until the last day of August.”
Thinking the woman must surely be joking about such a rule, Mellie chuckled. “And if it is hot on the first day of September?”
The keeper shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. The windows must remain closed—one of the boardinghouse regulations.”
“I see.” But she really didn’t see. She doubted the company owners who lived in fancy houses kept their doors and windows closed according to the same schedule. Still, she pushed the thought aside. Complaining would yield her nothing but difficulty.
“You’re sharing the attic with Cora and Clara Winters. They’re twins who hail from Massachusetts. Sweet girls. You’ll like them. Then there’s Phebe Collins and Olive French.” She pointed to a narrow bed as if the two young ladies were present. “Olive will move downstairs as soon as Susan leaves for home. That will give you a little more space.”
Two narrow beds centered the room with only a small space between. A bowl and pitcher sat balanced on one of the trunks that lined the walls. Bandboxes teetered atop the remaining trunks, while shoes and nightshifts lay scattered on what floor space remained in the room.
Mellie nodded from one bed to the other. “Where am I to sleep, Mrs. Richards?”
“You and the girls can decide who you’ll sleep with. If I were you, I’d choose Cora and Clara. They’re smaller, so you’ll have more space.”
Mellie struggled to comprehend what she’d heard. Sleeping in a bed with two strangers? Could she? Before she could formulate her thoughts, Mrs. Richards motioned her toward the stairs.
“Come along and I’ll show you the rest of the house before I return to my duties in the kitchen. Before long, the girls will whoosh in here for their noonday meal, and heaven help me if it isn’t on the table.” Several graying strands escaped the keeper’s tightly wound braid and bounced in rhythm as she descended the attic stairway. She stopped and opened one of the bedroom doors that bordered the hallway. “You can take a peek inside.”
Mellie edged around the buxom woman. She’d expected far more space in the second-floor rooms, but upon inspection she was sorely disappointed. The room was of reasonable size and would provide adequate space for two or possibly three young ladies, but four or five occupied this room. The two beds had been shoved together below one of the six-over-six sash windows. Trunks, boxes, and personal items crammed every remaining nook and cranny. She stared in wonder. How did they ever perform a proper toilette?
She waved Mellie toward the stairs. “No need to look any further. The other three are about the same.” At the bottom of the stairs, she pointed to the front room of the house but continued walking. In the dining room, twenty place settings had been positioned on a long table.
Mellie let her gaze linger on the table and tried to imagine being gathered with twenty strangers for each meal. Of course, they wouldn’t be strangers for long, but still, the idea was somewhat daunting.
Mrs. Richards continued into the kitchen. “As you can see, this is where the cooking gets done, and I need to get to it before the bells ring. There’s a copy of the regulations on the parlor table for you to read before the noonday meal.”
Mellie’s emotions warred within as she returned to the parlor. Could she adjust to so many changes overnight? Her mind told her she must, yet her heart wanted to board the next train out of Manchester. Bells rang in the distance as she retrieved the printed regulations from an ornately carved mahogany table before sitting down.
A short time later, bells once again sounded, and then the front door burst open. Chattering voices sprinkled with laughter couldn’t dull the sound of feet pounding against the wood floor. Mellie sat unnoticed as the flurry of cotton skirts and scuffed shoes trampled the hallway.
Mrs. Richards waved her forward. “Come on and join the others or you’ll be starving by supper, Mellie. I’ve set a place for you.”
Mellie cautiously approached the dining room. She steeled herself for the barrage of questions that would likely follow her introduction. However, her presence was barely noticed. One or two of the girls grunted and nodded while the others continued bolting down the food they spooned onto their chipped plates. There was no pleasant conversation or laughter, no mention of the morning’s activities or plans for the evening—only the sound of silverware scraping on china.
She settled on the empty chair at the end of the table and spooned a small helping of boiled beef and creamed potatoes onto her plate. Those around her continued to eat as though they’d never see another meal. Before she’d taken more than a few bites, the girls pushed away from the table, ran for the hallway, grabbed their lightweight capes and bonnets, and were out the door.
Once the girls departed, Mrs. Richards bustled into the dining room, stacked the dirty plates, and gathered the utensils.
“I don’t know how the girls are able to eat so rapidly,” Mellie said. “Surely they must realize it isn’t good for the digestion.”
Mrs. Richards chuckled. “It may not be good for the digestion, but it’s better than going back to work hungry. They have only thirty minutes for their meals. During that short time, they must leave their workstation, rush to the boardinghouse, eat their meal, and return to their machines.” She stacked several bowls at the end of the table. “My house isn’t as far away as some, so my girls are fortunate. They have a little more time than those who live in the houses farther up the hill. You’ll soon learn that manners don’t count around the boardinghouse table—not if you want to maintain your strength at the mill.”
Mellie wondered if she’d ever count herself fortunate to be living here, but she didn’t voice the thought. Realizing she was in the way, she handed her plate and utensils to Mrs. Richards.
“We all have to hurry if we’re going to finish everything that needs to be done in a day.” Mrs. Richards blew out a long breath. “Right now I need to wash the dishes and then get to my ledgers. Since you’re done eating, you might as well go up to your room and unpack your belongings. You can use the empty pegs on the wall.” Her gaze traveled the length of Mellie’s day dress. “You’ll want to wear something more serviceable tomorrow. If you go in dressed like that, the overseer will think you’ve come expecting tea instead of a job.”
“Thank you, I’ll see what I can find.” She hesitated. “I have a plain navy broadcloth.”
The older woman shrugged. “Up to you, but you’ll look like you were caught in a snowstorm within a half hour.”
Mellie frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“Lint. The air’s full of lint in the mills. If you’ve nothing but more fancy dresses in your trunks, you best wear the broadcloth. I can loan you an apron, or maybe one of the girls will let you borrow one of her calicos.”
“I’ll see if I have something that wil
l do.” Mellie turned her head and hurried from the room before the older woman could see the tears pooling in her eyes.
Chapter
four
THE AFTERNOON HAD PASSED SLOWLY. DESPITE THE HEAT and stale air, Mellie had remained in the attic room until the evening bells announced the end of the workday. Hoping she’d appear more like the other boarders, Mellie had changed into her broadcloth dress before arriving at the dinner table.
Mrs. Richards stood at the side of the table until all the girls were seated. “I know you didn’t have time earlier, but I want our new boarder, Mellicent Blanchard, to tell you a bit about herself. I believe she prefers to be addressed as Mellie, and she hails from Concord. Isn’t that right, Mellie?” The older woman looked at Mellie and smiled.
“Yes.” Twenty sets of eyes—twenty-one if she counted Mrs. Richards—stared down the table at her. The last time she’d felt such discomfort had been as a six-year-old when she’d been introduced to her class at boarding school.
When she didn’t say anything further, Mrs. Richards continued, “Mellie has been assigned to Mr. Fuqua in Stark Mill Number Two.” She turned to the two girls sitting to Mellie’s left. “Cora and Clara both work at Number Two, so you can walk to the mill with them in the morning.”
The blond-haired girls bobbed their heads in unison and offered Mellie a smile.
A girl at the other end of the table leaned forward and pinned Mellie with a scowl as Mrs. Richards retreated to the kitchen. “I hope you didn’t put her in our room. It’s too crowded already.”
“Well, so are all the rest of the rooms. So don’t put her in ours,” another called out.
Mellie shrank back, her nerves taut. Did they treat every new boarder this way?
Mrs. Richards hurried from the kitchen with a tray bearing a platter and three bowls. The sight of food seemed to have a quieting effect upon the girls—at least for the moment.
A Perfect Silhouette Page 3