A TAPESTRY
OF HOPE
Books by Tracie Peterson
www.traciepeterson.com
A Slender Thread • What She Left for Me • I Can't Do It All!**
ALASKAN QUEST*
Summer of the Midnight Sun • Under the Northern Lights
Whispers of Winter
BELLS OF LOWELL*
Daughter of the Loom • A Fragile Design
These Tangled Threads
LIGHTS OF LOWELL*
A Tapestry of Hope • A Love Woven True
The Pattern of Her Heart
DESERT ROSES
Shadows of the Canyon • Across the Years
Beneath a Harvest Sky
HEIRS MONTANA
Land of My Heart • The Coming Storm
To Dream Anew • The Hope Within
WESTWARD CHRONICLES
A Shelter of Hope • Hidden in a Whisper • A Veiled Reflection
LADIES OF LIBERTY†
A Lady of High Regard
SHANNON SAGA‡
City of Angels • Angels Flight • Angel of Mercy
YUKON QUEST
Treasures of the North • Ashes and Ice • Rivers of Gold
Books by Judith Miller
www.judithmccoymiller.com
FREEDOM’S PATH
First Dawn • Morning Sky • Daylight Comes
POSTCARDS FROM PULLMAN
In the Company of Secrets
* with Judith Miller
† with Judith Pella
‡ with James Scott Bell
** with Allison Bottke and Dianne O'Brian
TRACIE PETERSON
AND
JUDITH MILLER
A TAPESTRY
OF HOPE
A Tapestry of Hope
Copyright © 2004
Tracie Peterson and Judith Miller
Cover design by Dan Thornberg
Unless otherwise identified, Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher and copyright owners.
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan.
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN-13: 978-0-7642-2894-0
ISBN-10: 0-7642-2894-3
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Peterson, Tracie.
A tapestry of hope / by Tracie Peterson and Judith Miller.
p. cm. — (Lights of Lowell ; 1)
ISBN 0-7642-2894-3 (pbk.) — ISBN 0-7642-2910-9 (large-print pbk.)
1. Irish American women—Fiction. 2. Indentured servants—Fiction. 3. Textile industry—Fiction. 4. Lowell (Mass.)—Fiction. 5. Married women—Fiction.
I. McCoy-Miller, Judith. II. Title. III. Series: Peterson, Tracie. Lights of Lowell ; 1.
PS3566.E7717T37 2004
813'.54—dc22 2004001022
To Ann Dunn—
my dear Proverbs 17:17 friend.
Thanks for your love and prayers.
Judy
Proverbs 17:17
A friend loves at all times. . . .
Special Thanks
To Retired Colonel and Mrs. Walt Hylander
of Rosewood Plantation, Lorman, Mississippi,
for their insight and hospitality.
TRACIE PETERSON is a popular speaker and bestselling author who has written over fifty books, both historical and contemporary fiction. Tracie and her family make their home in Montana.
Visit Tracie’s Web site at: www.traciepeterson.com.
JUDITH MILLER is an award-winning author whose avid research and love for history are reflected in her novels, many of which have appeared on the CBA bestseller lists. Judy and her husband make their home in Topeka, Kansas.
Visit Judy’s Web site at: www.judithmccoymiller.com.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER • 1
May 1846, Lorman, Mississippi
THE TEMPERATURE was unseasonably hot, insufferably repressive. By all accounts, springtime had scarcely arrived in Mississippi, but nature’s cruel trick was going unnoticed by no one, including the residents of The Willows plantation.
Jasmine Wainwright flattened herself against the bedroom wall, her right arm wedged against the red oak window frame. She wriggled in protest when a tickling bead of perspiration inched its way down her narrowed shoulders. Taking great care, she lifted the lace curtain between two fingers and peeked below. ‘‘I see a carriage arriving, Mammy. It must be Papa’s houseguests. I’m tempted to pretend I have a headache and remain in my room. I know he plans to show me off like prize cotton from the season’s first picking.’’
Mammy stood by Jasmine’s dressing table with her arms folded across her ample bosom. ‘‘Um hum. Well, you don’t know fer sure what your papa got in mind, but iffen you don’t set yourself down, supper’s gonna be over and dem visitors be gone afore I get a chance to fix your curls.’’
Jasmine glanced at the plump servant who had been her caregiver since birth and knew she could remain a few more moments idea of who will greet me when I descend the stairs. Oh, look, Mammy! One of them is nearly as old as Papa, but the other appears much younger—and more handsome.’’
‘‘I thought you weren’t lookin’ fer no husband.’’
‘‘I’m not! But Papa seems determined to marry me off.’’ She pulled the curtain back a bit farther and continued spying on the two men. ‘‘The younger one has a kind face.’’
The familiar sound of Mammy slapping the hairbrush on her open palm captured Jasmine’s attention. ‘‘Oh, all right. I only wanted one more look,’’ she said while scurrying back to the dressing table. ‘‘The older man looks rather austere and rigid. Perhaps he’s the younger man’s father.’’
She plopped down and stared into the oval mirror as Mammy plunged her thick fingers in and out of Jasmine’s heavy golden-brown hair, coaxing the strands into perfectly formed ringlets. Perspiration trickled down the sides of the black woman’s face and dripped onto her bodice, leaving her cotton dress dotted with wet spots.
‘‘Chile, I ain’t never gonna get these curls fixed proper if you don’t quit flutterin’ that fan back and forth. Jest when I think I got one curl fixed all nice an’ proper, you go whipping that fan around and stirring up a whirlwind. And quit that frowning. Them creases you’s making in your forehead is gonna turn into wrinkles. You gonna look like
your grandma afore you turn twenty if you don’ stop making dem faces.’’
Jasmine giggled.
‘‘Ain’t funny, chile. When you’s gone and got yourself all wrinkled and can’t find no man to marry you, what you gonna do then? Come runnin’ to Mammy, ’spectin’ me to make you look young and purty?’’
Jasmine met Mammy’s stern gaze in the mirror’s reflection. ‘‘I’m sorry,’’ she said while grasping the servant’s roughened hand and drawing it against her own soft, powdered cheek. ‘‘But since I don’t want a man, I don’t suppose it matters very much if I wrinkle my face,'' she added with another giggle.
''You bes' get that out o' your mind. 'Sides, I's hoping to see you bring some little babes into this house one day. Maybe I’ll be takin’ care o’ them too.’’
Jasmine flushed at the remark. ‘‘Whatever would I do without you, Mammy?’’
‘‘Don’t know, chile, but ain’t no need to worry ’bout that. I ain’t made plans to meet my Maker jes’ yet. ’Course, He may have some different ideas. But if so, He ain’t told your ole Mammy. And since I ain’t never plannin’ to be parted from you any other way, I’s thinkin’ we’ll be together for a spell o’ time.’’ The servant gave a hearty chuckle, her ample figure jiggling up and down in tempo as she laughed. ‘‘We better hurry or you gonna be late to supper for sure. Then we both be in trouble. Anyways, that’s as good as them curls is gonna get for now. This hot, damp weather makin’ everything limp, including your hair.’’
Jasmine checked her appearance in the mirror one last time, patted the ringlets, and rose from the cushioned chair. ‘‘You won’t get in trouble, Mammy. I’m here to protect you.’’ She pulled the woman into a tight hug, her slender arms barely spanning the old servant’s broad waist. ‘‘Besides, after all these years, you know Papa is all bluster and bristle. He’d never lay a hand on anyone.’’
‘‘Um hum, you jes’ go on thinkin’ that, child.’’
Jasmine loosened her hold and leaned back. She looked deep into the old woman’s eyes. ‘‘Whatever do you mean?’’
‘‘You never know. Your pappy might jes’ decide you’re still young enough to turn over his knee.’’ The words were followed by another deep-throated laugh. ‘‘Now get on downstairs and be nice to your papa’s visitors.’’
‘‘You know they’ll bore me. Papa’s visitors always want to talk about business matters instead of entertaining topics.’’
‘‘Well, hot as it is this evenin’, you know your pappy’s bound to be in bad humor. He don’t like this heat—never has.’’
‘‘He complains about the heat every summer. I don’t understand why Papa doesn’t move us north with Grandmother.’’
‘‘How he gonna do that? Can’t move this cotton plantation up there where it's cold. 'Sides, your papa stays here 'cause this here is his home. He wouldn't live nowhere else. Even if he could, can't nobody get your mama out o’ this house anymore.’’
Jasmine’s brown eyes momentarily clouded. ‘‘I convinced her to go to White Sulphur Springs two years ago.’’
The old servant’s head bobbed up and down. ‘‘Um hum. And she convinced all of you to return home only three days after you got there. Your mama doin’ some better this past year, though.’’
‘‘It’s her headaches,’’ Jasmine commented.
‘‘It’s her fears,’’ Mammy corrected. ‘‘I don’ know—maybe that’s what causes her headaches. But your mama’s been full of fears ever since I knowed her. Yes, sir. Being afraid, that’s her real problem. Don’ know what she thinks is gonna happen outside this here house.’’ The old woman shook her head back and forth. Her forehead creased and formed a deep V between her wide-set eyes.
‘‘Um, um, it’s a terrible thing to be so afraid of life.’’
Jasmine knew her father wouldn’t care for Mammy’s forthrightness, especially in regard to the mistress of the plantation. But Jasmine wouldn’t forbid Mammy to address the matter. At least Mammy was honest with her, saying the things that others thought but refused to confide.
Jasmine shook her head at the frustrating situation. ‘‘But she’s been doing much better managing the household this past year.
I’ve not been required to help her nearly so much.’’
Mammy patted Jasmine’s narrow shoulder. ‘‘You’s right, chile.
She is doin’ better.’’ Mammy seemed to realize Jasmine needed encouragement. ‘‘ ’Sides, the Good Lord, He done give us His promise to never leave us or forsake us. He won’t be desertin’ us now.’’
Jasmine smiled. Kindness shone in the devoted servant’s eyes as their gazes locked. ‘‘What about you, Mammy? Wouldn’t you like to live somewhere besides Mississippi?’’
‘‘Don’t reckon I need to be givin’ much thought to such a notion. The Willows is where I been livin’ most all my life, and it’s where I’ll die. Don’t know why we’re even talkin’ ’bout such a thing, ’specially when you need to go get yourself downstairs.
Jasmine flashed a smile that brightened her whole face. ‘‘You never know where God might take you, Mammy. You’re always singing that song about meeting Jesus.’’ Her words grew distant as she raced down the stairs with her blue silk gown swaying in quickstep rhythm while she descended the spiral staircase. However, one stern look from Madelaine Wainwright slowed Jasmine’s pace.
All eyes were focused upon her as she entered the parlor. She looked at her father. His normal pleasant demeanor appeared to have escaped him this evening. He pulled on his fob and removed the gold watch from his vest pocket, giving the timepiece a fleeting look. ‘‘I was beginning to wonder if you were going to join us.’’
‘‘I apologize for rushing down the stairs—and for my tardiness.
I hurried only because I didn’t want to further delay dinner.’’
Her lips curved into what she hoped was an apologetic smile before her gaze settled on one of her father’s guests. He was grinning back at her.
‘‘Jasmine, I’d like to introduce you to Bradley and Nolan Houston. They’ve come from Massachusetts.’’
The words brought a broad smile to her lips. ‘‘Massachusetts?
Oh, but this is wonderful. Do you live in Lowell? My grandmother lives in Lowell. Perhaps you know her? Alice Wainwright?’’
Malcolm Wainwright cleared his throat and moved to his daughter’s side. ‘‘I believe we would like to go in for supper, Jasmine. You can interrogate our guests once they’ve had something to eat. You’ll recall that we’ve been awaiting your arrival.’’
Jasmine’s three brothers were all smirking at their father’s riposte when Bradley Houston stepped forward and drew near to her side. He didn’t appear quite so old as she had first thought when she spied him from the upstairs window, and when he smiled, the sternness temporarily disappeared from his expression.
‘‘Miss Wainwright, I’d be happy to await my supper every evening if it afforded me the opportunity to keep company with someone of your beauty and charm.’’
‘‘Why, thank you, Mr. Houston. You are absolutely too kind.’’
Jasmine grasped Bradley’s arm, graced him with an endearing smile, and permitted him to escort her into the dining room. The moment he glanced in the other direction, Jasmine turned toward her three older brothers and, with a great deal of satisfaction, stuck out her tongue.
‘‘You must be careful if you ever visit up north where the weather is cold, Miss Wainwright. You wouldn’t want your lovely face to freeze in such a position,’’ Nolan Houston whispered as he took his seat next to her at the table.
Jasmine looked up in surprise, then leaned slightly closer and grinned. ‘‘Thank you. I shall make note of your kind advice, sir.’’
Nolan laughed aloud at the reply.
Bradley furrowed his brow and turned his attention to Jasmine.
‘‘Pray tell, what advice has my brother given you?’’
‘‘Cold weather. I was merely explaining how easily one
can freeze when the weather turns frigid,’’ Nolan replied.
Jasmine gave a quick nod of agreement to Nolan’s reply before whispering a brief thank-you to him. Although she knew her brothers would have enjoyed listening while she attempted to wiggle out of such inappropriate behavior, it appeared Nolan Houston had been amused rather than offended.
Malcolm Wainwright pulled a freshly pressed white handkerchief from his pocket and mopped the beads of perspiration from his forehead. ‘‘I could do with some frigid weather right now. This heat is stifling, and it’s barely the end of May. I don’t know how I’m going to make it through another summer in Mississippi.
Once the cotton crop has been laid by, I’m hoping to convince Madelaine we should make a return visit to White Sulphur Springs in Virginia or perhaps journey to Niagara Falls.’’
Jasmine’s mother flinched at the suggestion but nevertheless remained the epitome of genteel womanhood. ‘‘I don’t think we need to weary our guests with such a topic just now,’’ she said and smiled. ‘‘After all, they’ve known nothing but travel these past weeks. They must be anxious to settle in for a time.’’
‘‘I wasn’t asking them to make further journey, my dear,’’
Jasmine’s father stated evenly, the tension evident in his tone.
Jasmine listened with interest to her parents’ exchanged remarks. Perhaps over the next two months she could influence her mother to travel east. Certainly such an excursion would do them all good.
A wisp from a large feather plume floated downward, interrupting her thoughts, and she glanced up at Tobias. The young slave was perched on his small swing secured to the ceiling above the dining table. Tobias gave her a toothy grin as he swung back and forth above them while brandishing his oversized plume to deflect any flies that might enter through the open windows and hover over the dining table.
‘‘If you don’t stop distracting Tobias, he’s going to fall off that swing one of these days,’’ Samuel said.
‘‘And a fine mess that would make. I don’t believe Father would be quick to forgive you if Tobias dropped into the middle of the dining table,’’ David agreed.
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