Mellie glanced at the list of appointments, then smiled at him. “You must be Benjamin Rourke. Am I correct?”
He nodded and raked his fingers through a shock of auburn hair. “I . . . I made an appointment with Mr. Harrison yesterday.” He glanced at the clock. “I’m a little early.”
“That’s quite all right. I’ve already completed my previous appointment. Why don’t you have a seat on the stool there?”
After she’d finished cutting his silhouette, she helped him choose a frame. Over the next hour, the remainder of her appointments arrived on schedule, and there were several other customers who came in and were willing to wait their turns. They’d stand and watch, transfixed as Mellie snipped away the outer edges of black paper until the likeness of her subject appeared, with the remnants of paper fluttering to the floor.
It was near closing time when the bell over the door rang and a young mother with two children arrived. The red-cheeked toddler was cranky, and the smaller child slept on her shoulder. “I hope I’m not too late. I wanted to come earlier, but I couldn’t manage it.”
With one look at the harried young mother, a surge of sympathy swelled in Mellie’s chest. “There’s more than enough time. I can’t leave until Mr. Harrison returns, so there’s no hurry. Did you want a silhouette of both children or one of yourself?”
Her lips curved in a half smile. “I’d like a small one of each of us, but I don’t know if the children will cooperate. If I wake the little one, she’ll cry, and I’m not sure Isabelle will hold still for you.”
“I think if you sit down in this chair, I can cut her profile while she’s sleeping on your shoulder. Let’s try. If you don’t like my first attempt, we can wake her and try again.”
Soon realizing her mother was occupied, the toddler scampered around the shop, reaching for anything within her grasp. Her mother’s admonitions did nothing to deter Isabelle, and Mellie was hurrying across the room when Isabelle started to grab hold of Mr. Harrison’s tripod.
Thinking that Mr. Harrison had returned when she heard footsteps behind her, Mellie scooped up the child. “Nothing harmed,” she said. She took a backward step and turned. “Oh, I thought . . .”
“Would you like me to entertain her while you finish?” Morgan extended his arms to the toddler. “Want to come and play over here?”
Arms outstretched, Isabelle strained toward him. He lifted her up in a swoosh, and little Isabelle giggled.
Mellie’s thoughts raced. When had he returned? Hadn’t Olive invited him to sit in the visiting parlor so she could show him off to the other girls? Did he realize how irresistibly endearing he appeared while entertaining little Isabelle? She stared at him a moment longer and erased the thought from her mind. He’d been walking Olive home only a short time ago.
She frowned at the remembrance and strode back across the room, where Isabelle’s mother was still holding the infant. “If you can hold the baby in the crook of your arm, I’ll position my stool so you won’t have to move. Then we can see if Isabelle will cooperate.”
A short time later, it was Morgan who held Isabelle on his lap while Mellie cut her silhouette. In truth, she couldn’t have completed the cuttings without his help. But she wouldn’t let down her guard with a man who seemed to toy with the affections of young ladies.
Mellie’s customer was paying for her silhouettes when Mr. Harrison rushed inside and came to her side. “I’m sorry to be so late. We were talking, and I wasn’t careful about the time.”
“Everything is fine, Mr. Harrison. It’s not quite nine-thirty. I knew you would return on time. I wasn’t worried.” From the corner of her eye she could see Morgan moving toward the door. Was he leaving without a word to her? “Business was good this evening. I’ve listed everything that was sold and left an accounting of the payments. Your share from the silhouettes is in the drawer.”
“Thank you, Mellie. I don’t know how I managed my evening hours before you came to work for me.” He moved behind the counter. “I’ll see you tomorrow evening.”
Morgan slipped out the door while she was donning her bonnet and cape. He’d obviously noticed she wasn’t happy with his earlier behavior and taken his leave. After bidding Mr. Harrison good-night, she picked up the case with her scissors and paper. She’d promised to cut a likeness of Cora and Clara after she returned home this evening. Though she was tired, she didn’t want to disappoint them.
She’d gone only a short distance when she heard the distinct sound of footfalls behind her and glanced over her shoulder.
“No need for concern, Mellie. It’s just me.”
Morgan! She recognized the deep timbre of his voice, even before seeing his face. “I don’t need you to follow me. Unlike Olive, I didn’t beg you to escort me home. I’m perfectly fine.”
He moved to her side. “Why are you angry with me? I’ve done nothing but try to help you.”
She gasped in surprise. “Help me? Other than entertaining Isabelle, how do you think your actions helped me this evening?”
“I got Olive to leave the store before she created another incident. And, I might add, I convinced her to purchase the silhouette, even if I did have to stretch the truth a little. She does have a rather large nose and pointed chin.” He sighed. “That was the longest walk of my life.”
Mellie couldn’t restrain a laugh. Morgan joined her laughter and fell in step beside her.
After their laughter died away, neither of them spoke for a while, though a current seemed to glide between them as smoothly as a bird taking flight. Morgan cleared his throat. “Thanks to that sign in the window, I finally know your full name is Mellicent. I don’t believe I’ve ever known anyone named Mellicent.”
She should put an end to his attentions right now. She was here to earn money for her family, not find a beau. Yet his nearness made her stomach flutter in a most delightful manner. Besides, he seemed determined to keep her safe at night whether she enjoyed his company or not.
But in truth, she did enjoy his company. She paused and turned to him. “Please call me Mellie. Mellicent is much too formal.”
Chapter
eleven
MORGAN SWALLOWED HARD WHEN HE CAUGHT SIGHT of Mr. Hale and Mr. Baldwin hunched over a worktable. Had Mr. Baldwin come to announce he’d found another investor to fund his project? Morgan hadn’t heard anything from his father. He could only assume the Stark Mills had lost their opportunity to produce the circular loom and Mr. Baldwin was here to pick up the drawings he’d left with Mr. Hale.
Gathering his courage, Morgan approached the two men. Mr. Baldwin glanced over his shoulder and locked eyes with Morgan. He jerked upright and clasped Morgan’s shoulder.
“Good morning!” Mr. Hale smiled and echoed Mr. Baldwin’s cheerful greeting.
“Good morning, gentlemen. You both seem in good spirits for such a gloomy day.” Morgan nodded toward the windows, emphasizing the gray clouds that threatened to spill either rain or snow—the type of moisture dependent upon New Hampshire’s changing fall temperatures.
“Ah, but it’s a glorious day, in spite of the clouds.” Mr. Baldwin tapped the drawings spread across the worktable. “Today we begin work on the circular loom prototype. Thanks to Mr. Hale, constructing the prototype isn’t going to be as time-consuming as I’d once thought.” He clapped Mr. Hale on the shoulder. “Because he was confident Mr. Stark would acquire funding, Mr. Hale has been making inquiries at some of the other shops in the mill yard.”
“Without divulging why I was making such inquiries.” Mr. Hale leaned forward to look at Morgan. “I didn’t want anyone to know about Mr. Baldwin’s invention.”
Mr. Baldwin bobbed his head with such enthusiasm, a shock of his dark hair dropped across one eye. “Of course, of course, and I appreciate your caution.” Fingers spread wide, he raked his hair back into place. “The use of forging dies in the locomotive shop will markedly speed the entire process.” He nudged Morgan. “We won’t need to worry over production of the cir
cular frames. They can be manufactured with the dies used for the locomotive wheels. I think we can adapt without any problem, especially for the prototype. If there are problems, we’ll be prepared for them when we begin production of additional looms.”
Morgan did his best to keep pace with the conversation swirling around him, yet it was proving difficult. When had the funds become available to move forward with the project? Why hadn’t his father gotten word to him? If nothing else, his father could have used an anonymous name and sent a letter to the boardinghouse.
“You haven’t said a word, Morgan. I thought you’d be overjoyed by the news.” Mr. Baldwin’s brows dipped low, and he rubbed his chin. “Have you lost interest in the project?”
“No, not at all. I’m very excited. It’s just, well, a surprise. I didn’t know the finances had been received. So, is it Stark Mills that will invest in the project, or has Mr. Stark arranged for some other financial plan?”
Both men stared at him as though he’d spoken in a foreign tongue, but Mr. Hale was the first to answer. “We aren’t privy to the financial records of Stark Mills, yet Mr. Stark has sent word that we are to move forward posthaste. Mr. Baldwin and I have been tasked with keeping a record of the costs as we proceed, and funding has been placed in a special account for our use during this first step.”
Morgan silently chastised himself. Mentioning the financing wasn’t an inquiry a mechanic would make. He’d better keep on his toes or his identity would be discovered before he accomplished anything.
“I’d like you to go over to the locomotive shop with me so we can talk to the foreman. He needs to meet you and know that he’ll be dealing directly with you much of the time. He talked like he’d want you to meet several of the men in his shop, as well.” Mr. Baldwin shifted from Morgan to Mr. Hale. “Are you coming with us, John?”
The overseer shook his head. “I’ll let the two of you go ahead and meet with him. I have work here that needs my attention. But Morgan has been removed from his previous assignment and will be working only on the circular loom until further notice. You’ll be reassigning his work until we move further along with production.”
Mr. Baldwin smiled at Morgan. “I think we’re going to get along quite well.”
For the remainder of the day, Morgan shadowed Mr. Baldwin’s every move, listening carefully as he spoke to various foremen and workers. He committed their names to memory, and he did sketch a few drawings of the forging dies they’d be using for the loom.
When they had departed for the shop where the power looms were produced, Morgan stepped alongside Mr. Baldwin. “Is there some reason you decided against the circular dies that are used for the power looms? I thought you were considering adapting those.”
“At first we thought they might work, but it turns out they aren’t large enough and the dies can’t be enlarged. We have more latitude with the ones in the locomotive shop.”
Mr. Hale and Mr. Baldwin had obviously continued their meetings with the belief that the necessary funding would become available. Yet Morgan hadn’t been included in any of those meetings. And when Mr. Baldwin revealed they’d already ordered the leather strapping and redesigned the pulleys and other equipment made in the power-loom shop, Morgan was sure he’d been intentionally excluded. The idea niggled at him. Had his father consented to the project earlier but cautioned against sharing the news with anyone else until he sent further approval? If so, why? Had he decided to use funds that didn’t belong to him? Had Morgan’s mother convinced him there was no danger in doing so? Or perhaps she hadn’t needed to convince him. Maybe his father had been unable to set aside the possibility of losing huge financial gains, especially to a competitor. The thoughts plagued him throughout the day.
Shortly before quitting time, they returned for a brief meeting with Mr. Hale. Morgan longed to know more about the financial arrangements, but the older man had made it clear he didn’t know. Besides, further questions might cause them to speculate about his interest, and deep inside he feared what he might discover. Maybe this was one time it was good to be in the dark. Once their meeting ended, Morgan grabbed his coat from atop the worktable.
“Before you go, you should take this with you.” Mr. Baldwin rolled up a copy of the diagrams and handed them to Morgan. “Study as you have time. The more you commit the plans to memory, the easier it will be once we begin work. If you must stop and study a diagram each time a screw or bolt needs to be placed, it will take much more time.” He tapped his finger on the roll of documents. “And remember to keep these away from prying eyes. The last thing we want is for the design to fall into the wrong hands. If the corporate bigwigs in Lowell or Nashua caught wind of this invention, they’d try to develop the loom and beat us to production.” He patted Morgan on the shoulder. “I’ve made notations so you will know the size and number of each item that must be on hand when we begin.”
Morgan turned to Mr. Hale. “Did you have someone in mind to take charge of procurement for the project?”
“Why, you, of course. I thought you understood that I appointed you as Mr. Baldwin’s second on this project.”
A cradle of fear lodged deep in his belly. “I understood you relieved me of my other duties so that I could act as Mr. Baldwin’s assistant, but I didn’t realize that would include taking charge of procuring all the materials and tools necessary for producing the machine.”
Mr. Hale shrugged. “To my thinking, that’s what a second does—everything his superior either can’t or doesn’t want to do. I know you’re one of our most recent hires, but you’re also one of the brightest. Still, this is a large and important undertaking.” He glanced around, looked at the list of men on the employee board hanging above his desk, and pointed. “I’ll assign Jake Marlow to help you assemble the tools, materials, and equipment. Don’t share the details with him. I’ll tell him all he needs to know, and if he asks further questions, tell him he needs to speak with me.” He perched on the corner of his desk, one leg dangling. “Most of the men don’t mean to cause problems, but sometimes they talk too much. Makes them feel important if they think they know more than the other fellas. One thing leads to another and before you know it, you’ve got rumors flying around like a flock of geese headed south for the winter.”
Mr. Baldwin nodded his agreement. “I’m all for giving Morgan as much help as he needs, but I concur. We don’t want anyone spreading rumors. Once we’ve completed the prototype and are ready to move forward, it will be difficult to keep things quiet. For now, however, secrecy is critical.”
Morgan nodded and tucked the design inside his coat. He wasn’t certain where he’d find a place to study the renderings. Obviously, Mr. Baldwin didn’t understand that living in a boardinghouse didn’t permit privacy. With two other men sharing his room and a parlor where the boardinghouse keeper permitted poker games if there was no gambling, Morgan would be hard-pressed to find a safe place in which to study the drawings.
Even so, he’d have to figure out something. The project was far too important for him to fail.
On Sunday morning, Mellie entered the recently constructed brick-and-granite church on the corner of Franklin and Market Streets. On her first Sunday at the boardinghouse, the twins had invited her to attend church with them. Mellie had agreed, but she was taken aback when, the following Sunday, the girls had attended a different church. It was then that Mellie had learned the girls had a routine they referred to as “circulating church.” Each Sunday morning they attended a different church until they’d attended every church in the city—and then they started anew. Sunday by Sunday, church by church.
Mellie had continued the routine for only two rounds before she expressed her desire to attend the Franklin Street church every Sunday. While she’d enjoyed visiting the various churches, this church reminded her of home. Phebe had said the same about the Methodist church that she attended each week. Cora and Clara continued their weekly routine but attended with Mellie when the Franklin Street church r
otated to the top of their list, and with Phebe when it was “Methodist Sunday.” When Mellie had inquired about their odd habit, Cora told her that choosing a church had been one of the very few times they hadn’t been able to agree. Between them, they’d decided to circulate among the Manchester churches until the two of them finally decided. Thus far, that hadn’t happened.
While company rules stated that church attendance was required, the workers were permitted to attend any church of their choosing—a far cry from the early years in Lowell when the mill girls were required to attend St. Ann’s and a portion of their pay was involuntarily deducted and given to the church. Yet some of the workers continued to rebel quietly against the rule by heading off to the river rather than attending Sunday services. From time to time, Mellie had heard gossip about the girls who had been discharged for lying about church attendance or breaking company or boardinghouse rules, especially the girls already considered to be of weak moral character.
With the passage of time, Mellie had become increasingly comfortable in her new surroundings. It wasn’t the same as living at home in Concord, but she’d learned to navigate the city and could locate most any establishment on her own. Though she enjoyed the company of Phebe, Clara, and Cora, she no longer felt dependent upon them. But for some reason, while sitting alone in the church pew, she was struck by a sudden sense of loneliness. Perhaps it was caused by a group of girls who’d entered in a cluster and were whispering among themselves, or perhaps it was because she was seldom alone in her new life.
She hadn’t completely overcome the feeling when, from the corner of her eye, she glimpsed someone at the end of the pew. Mellie looked up and inhaled a sharp breath.
Morgan leaned sideways toward her. “May I sit with you?” He didn’t wait for a response before sitting down beside her. “I hope you don’t mind, but when I saw you sitting alone, I thought you might like some company.”
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