However, I don’t believe the girls in the mills should receive the same pay as mechanics and engineers working on the locomotives being built in the Corporation’s machine shops. Their work is specialized and requires training.’’
Mary Johnson fidgeted with her handkerchief, folding it first one direction and then the other. ‘‘Have you visited the mills, Janet? Those jobs require training. And there are workers constantly suffering injuries. If it’s not a finger being snapped like a twig in one of those monstrous machines, a metal-tipped shuttle is flying across the room with the speed of an arrow and every bit as dangerous, or a girl is scalped when her hair is caught—’’ ‘‘Do stop this gruesome talk,’’ Rose Montrose interrupted.
‘‘We could argue this issue until next week and still reach no conclusions.’’ ‘‘We’re not arguing, Rose. We’re exercising our brains by discussing an intellectual issue,’’ Mary asserted. ‘‘I’ve recently read articles by acclaimed doctors who maintain we don’t use our minds nearly enough.’’
Daughtie Donohue walked around one end of the settee and sat down beside Alice Wainwright. ‘‘And what of the Irish?
They’re now working in the mills. None of them, whether man or woman, is paid the equivalent wage of a Yankee mill girl. Are those who are writing articles for The Voice making mention of that fact? Are they arguing for the Irish to receive an equal wage, or do they find lesser pay acceptable for those born in Ireland while unacceptable only for themselves?’’
Wilma puckered her lips into a bow of tiny creases. ‘‘I should have known you’d find reason to sympathize with the Irish, Daughtie. It seems you’re determined to address their plight at every turn.’’
‘‘I’m sorry if you’ve grown impatient with my pleas, but somebody needs to speak on behalf of the downtrodden, Wilma. I don’t limit myself to the Irish. I’d be pleased to address the plight of the Negroes. Even their freedmen aren’t permitted the smallest advantage, yet they count themselves blessed because they’ve broken loose from the shackles of slavery.’’
‘‘We’ve taken up collections for those suffering from the famine. The people of Lowell contributed over four hundred dollars for the Irish.’’ Wilma gave a satisfied nod while primly folding her hands and placing them in her lap.
Daughtie tilted her head to one side and smiled. ‘‘And I applaud that effort. But what of the Irish living right here in Lowell? And what of the slaves held against their will down South?
There is much to be done, Wilma. While that collection of money is admirable, it doesn’t begin to address issues that need resolution in the South and right here in Lowell.’’
‘‘I know we need to do more to help the slaves,’’ Mary chimed in. ‘‘I read an article in the Boston newspaper just last week that addressed the issue of Northerners taking a more active role in assisting runaways. While I find the concept frightening, I must admit it is also quite exciting to think of helping someone begin a new life.’’
‘‘Of course, there may be those among us who don’t hold with our views,’’ Rose remarked while turning her attention toward Jasmine. ‘‘I believe you and your husband have a slave living right here in your home, don’t you?’’
Jasmine didn’t miss the look of condemnation leveled at her from several directions around the room. She picked at the ivory silk threads embroidered into a spray of meandering flowers that decorated her dress of peach silk. ‘‘No, although I will admit she was with us for a time. Mammy was more of a surrogate mother than a slave. I don’t say that to lessen the impropriety of owning slaves but rather to explain she was always well cared for. I would have preferred to free her, but I do not own her. She is my father’s slave. Only he has the legal authority to set her free. However, I want all of you to know that I am opposed to slavery. I saw firsthand the poor—no, the outrageous living conditions—in the slave quarters. I had no idea.’’ She shook her head sadly.
‘‘I honestly grew up thinking our slaves were happy,’’ she continued. ‘‘I saw no reason to believe otherwise. Mammy was always cheerful and loving. The slaves who worked in the house seemed content, well fed, and always had a smile. I never imagined that they maintained their positive outlooks because it was required of them rather than because of true happiness.’’
She looked up and met the faces of her accusers. ‘‘I saw what my father wanted me to see, and I never questioned whether it was false or true. But now I know the truth—I’ve seen for myself and I am deeply ashamed to have been a part of such things. I’ve attended a number of antislavery meetings, as some of you know, and I want to help in any way possible. My grandmother can vouch for the fact that I have embraced the concept of freedom for all men and women.’’
‘‘Indeed I can,’’ Alice put in. ‘‘Jasmine realizes the immorality and impropriety of the issue. Only last week she mentioned the possibility of forming a society to aid runaway slaves, didn’t you, dear?’’
Jasmine bobbed her head in agreement. ‘‘There are enough ladies present right now that we could make a list of those interested in forming such a group.’’
‘‘Excellent idea! However, I think we should take care, as there are those who would betray confidences. We don’t ever want to place a runaway in harm’s way,’’ Daughtie said. ‘‘Once we have a list of names, we can meet. I may know someone who can assist us with the formation of our group and let us know how we may be of help.’’
‘‘I agree,’’ Mary remarked. ‘‘There are many Northerners, especially those associated with the mills, who speak out against slavery. But in reality, what they’re against is the expansion of slavery into additional states. The mills are dependent upon cotton, and cotton can’t be grown without slaves.’’
‘‘I only partially agree with what you’ve said, Mary,’’ Daughtie replied. ‘‘I think cotton can be produced without slavery, but there’s little doubt it will cut into the profits of the owners of both the plantations and the mills. However, I’m not certain there are many in either group willing to accept a decrease in their own pockets. I believe all of you should be sensitive to your husbands’ directives concerning involvement in the antislavery movement. I would only request you prayerfully consider what role you should play in this issue and then follow your heart.’’
Elinor Brighton got to her feet. ‘‘Prayer will do you little good. It has been my experience that a person does better for himself by taking matters into his own hands.’’
Lilly Cheever came forward. ‘‘Elinor, you speak out of your pain. My heart is burdened for you, but I cannot allow you to misguide our sisters. Prayer is a vital tool, ladies. We must each one remember that. There is great power in prayer. I have no doubt in my heart that God has brought us all together in this place for this very purpose and reason.
‘‘Many of you know me and some are less familiar, but when the mills came to this place, I fought hard against them. I was mortified that our beautiful farmlands were being stripped away to make room for horrible brick buildings. It was only through yielding my heart to God that I found any peace at all. Change is not always good, but neither is it always bad. Sometimes we must learn to live in the midst of what we hate with thoughts toward making it better.’’
‘‘That is well said,’’ Jasmine’s grandmother declared. ‘‘I can assure you after making my home in the South for more years than I care to remember that working against slavery is a good thing.
However, it will come at a price. Whether it be increases in prices for your lovely gowns or reductions in your husbands’ salaries— sacrifices will be made. You mustn’t rush into this endeavor simply because it sounds noble. This will not be an easy matter. I would admonish each of you to devote yourselves to prayer before we move forward.’’
Lilly nodded. ‘‘I agree.’’
Jasmine sank back into her chair, wondering if she’d opened Pandora’s box without realizing it. Suddenly she felt afraid. What if Bradley learned that she’d instigated an antislavery
society?
While he may well agree with the premise, she knew he had no problem accepting the institution of slavery when it meant he would make a profit.
When the women had finally departed, Alice sat down to relax for a few moments before taking her leave. ‘‘Your social went exceptionally well, Jasmine. The ladies appeared to enjoy themselves, and the conversation was quite stimulating, don’t you agree?
You’ll have much to discuss with Bradley.’’
‘‘I don’t think I’ll mention the antislavery issue.’’
Alice wagged her head back and forth. ‘‘I see no need. Except for attending a meeting or donating funds, you’ll be unable to assume involvement until after the baby is born.’’
‘‘I liked Lilly’s friend Mrs. Donohue. She isn’t afraid to speak her mind, is she?’’
Alice laughed. ‘‘No. Daughtie cares little what others think.
She’s a brave woman. Lilly tells me she was reared by the Shakers up in Canterbury and came to Lowell full of courage and conviction—and that has never changed. In fact, she’s married to an Irishman. She cared little that many people shunned her because of her choice. Of course, most of them have now accepted her; Lilly Cheever and Bella Manning saw to that. But Lilly tells me there were some rough years.’’
‘‘I must say that I admire her veracity,’’ Jasmine said.
‘‘As do I. And now I’d best be on my way. I meant to tell you earlier—I did post the letter to your father regarding my concerns about Bradley.’’
Jasmine gave her grandmother a kiss on the cheek. ‘‘Thank you, Grandmother. It’s a blessing having you close at hand.’’
‘‘Tut, tut, dear. That’s what grandmothers are for.’’
CHAPTER • 22
KIARA HURRIED off toward town, pleased to be away from the Houston household, if only for a short time. There were no visible locks or bars on the doors, but the home had become her prison just the same. Although Mrs. Houston had readily agreed she could go into town for lace-making supplies, Kiara knew she must be back before suppertime. If Mr. Houston became aware of her treks into Lowell by herself, there was no doubt the mistress would suffer his wrath. Neither of them mentioned the possibility, but they both realized they would be punished for not seeking his permission. They also knew he would not grant his consent if they asked.
She’d sent word to Bridgett she’d be in town, but likely Bridgett would be at work in the mills. However, even a few minutes with her friend would be a pleasure.
Quickening her pace, she hurried into Paxton’s and handed the woman the note Mrs. Houston had given her. ‘‘I’ll be needin’ some lace-makin’ supplies,’’ Kiara said.
Mrs. Paxton led her to the back of the store, where Kiara had first purchased supplies when she and Jasmine had come to town.
‘‘I believe I’ll take this thread,’’ she said, pointing toward a bobbin.
‘‘Anything else?’’
‘‘No. That’s all I’ll be needin’.’’
‘‘You can wait up front. I need to mark my ledger.’’
Kiara did as she was told, and a short time later, Mrs. Paxton handed over the thread along with another package securely wrapped in brown paper. ‘‘Take this to your mistress,’’ she instructed.
‘‘Yes, ma’am, and thank ya for yar help.’’
She darted out the door and glanced about. Bridgett was nowhere to be seen, but then, it was only five o’clock—too early for the end-of-day bell to be ringing.
‘‘Kiara O’Neill! What are ya doin’ in town, lass?’’
Rogan Sheehan came alongside her and tipped his cap.
‘‘How’re ya doin’, lass? I asked Bridgett just the other day when we might be seein’ ya again.’’
‘‘I’m doin’ as well as can be expected, I suppose. I’d rather be livin’ in the Acre with my own people, but me mistress is nice enough. I don’t know when I can come visitin’ again. The missus lets me come whenever her ’usband is out of town. He’s not kindly about grantin’ favors to me or Paddy.’’
Rogan nodded. ‘‘Know that ya’re welcome whenever ya can come. And bring Paddy with ya. He’s a fine lad.’’
‘‘Thank ya. Tell Bridgett I said ’ello and I’m thinkin’ of her.’’
‘‘That I will, lass.’’
‘‘I best be hurryin’ back before the master gets home.’’
He tugged at his cap once again and gave her a wide smile.
‘‘Ya been a bright spot in me day, lass. Take care o’ yarself.’’
She waved and rushed off, wondering if Rogan Sheehan would think she was such a fine lass if he knew how she was forced to spend her nights. If only she could think of another place where she might hide from Bradley Houston. She’d avoided him for well over a week by hiding each night in the opening beneath the stairs. The space was small and cramped, and she knew it was only a matter of time until he discovered where she was hiding. She knew he was looking; she heard him prowling the house every night after the others were abed. He skulked about like a beast seeking its prey.
‘‘Perhaps I could ask Sarah,’’ she murmured.
The housekeeper had a small corner area off the kitchen with little room for anything more than her narrow bed and a small chest. But Kiara needed only a sliver of space on the floor, and she knew Bradley would never pull aside the curtain and check in the housekeeper’s quarters. She wondered if the austere old woman might take pity upon her or instead rush to Bradley and report the Irish girl was making terrible accusations against him. When she delivered the package to the mistress, she would inquire if Mr.
Houston would be returning to Boston soon.
Paddy came running around the side of the house as she neared the driveway. ‘‘Where ya been, Kiara?’’
‘‘Off to take care o’ some business fer the missus. I’ve got no time fer talkin’, Paddy. I got to get this package delivered.’’
‘‘What’s wrong with ya, Kiara? Ya’re never havin’ time fer me anymore. Ya’re actin’ angry, like I’ve done somethin’ bad. I do na know what’s made ya so unhappy with me.’’
Kiara tousled his black curls and kissed his cheek. ‘‘I’m not angry with you, Paddy. There’s problems that go on in the house that make life difficult for me. I wish there was some way we could get out o’ this place. I wish I could be workin’ in the mills and live in the Acre like Bridgett.’’
‘‘I’m sorry ya’re so sad, Kiara. I wish ya liked it here. Except fer missin’ Ma and Pa, this is the best place on earth as fer as I’m concerned.’’
His words tugged at her heart. ‘‘I know, Paddy, and I’m thankful fer that. Now get on with ya. I’ve got to take this to the missus.’’ He dashed off but then turned around. He hurried back and grabbed her around the waist, giving her a tight squeeze. ‘‘I love ya, Kiara.’’
She held him close for a moment. ‘‘And I love ya right back, Paddy O’Neill.’’ He ran off toward the barn, and Kiara hurried into the house with her parcels.
‘‘I’ve brought ya a package from Mrs. Paxton. She said ya were expectin’ it.’’ Kiara handed the parcel to her mistress and hesitated for a moment.
Jasmine held the parcel close but made no move to unwrap it.
‘‘Was there something else you needed?’’
‘‘I was wonderin’ if Mr. Bradley would be goin’ to Boston sometime soon?’’
Jasmine appeared surprised by the question. ‘‘I don’t believe he’ll be going until sometime next week. Why do you ask?’’
‘‘I was thinkin’ maybe I could go to visit Bridgett on Sunday if he was goin’ ta be in Boston.’’
‘‘Oh, I see. I think your visit will have to wait until the following Sunday. However, if Bradley should be called out of town before then, I’ll be certain to let you go visiting.’’
‘‘That’s fine. Thank ya, ma’am.’’
She walked out of the room filled with a sense of despair.
Spending any m
ore time in that cramped space beneath the stairway would be unbearable. She’d have to take a chance and talk to Sarah.
After helping wash up the supper dishes, Kiara had just begun to make her way down the hallway when a hand clamped around her wrist and pulled her into the parlor and onward into Bradley’s library.
He stood with his back against the closed door, his jaw flexing, his teeth clenched in anger. He pulled her against his chest, holding her tight against his body, his arm wrapped around her back.
She struggled to free herself, but he grabbed her hair and yanked until her face was turned upward. He forced his mouth on hers, crushing her lips and twisting her arm until she thought it would snap in two. Her scalp ached with pain, and she wondered if he would pull every hair from her head before he was through with her.
‘‘Where have you been hiding? I’ve been to your room every night, and you’ve been gone.’’ His grasp on her hair tightened.
‘‘Now you listen well, girl. You be in your room when I come to you at night or your brother will be sailing for New Orleans next week to make a new life for himself on a cotton plantation. Do you understand me?’’
Fear coursed through her body like a wellspring. ‘‘Yes,’’ she whispered.
‘‘You foolish girl. Did you think you could hide from me for the next five years?’’
‘‘Bradley? Are you in the library?’’
Bradley pushed Kiara away. ‘‘I’ll join you in a few minutes,’’ he called out, his body still resting against the door. ‘‘I’ll leave this door slightly ajar when I leave the room. Watch until it’s safe for you to exit the other way without being seen. And remember, if anything goes amiss and Jasmine discovers our affection for each other, your brother will be gone and you’ll never see him again.’’
Tracie Peterson & Judith Miller - [Lights of Lowell 01] Page 25