Kiara stared at him in disbelief. ‘‘Our affection? I detest you.’’
He chucked her under the chin and gave a husky laugh. ‘‘I think Jasmine would believe me if I told her you’ve been attempting to steal my affections. It would be quite easy to convince her you’ve tried to bargain for your freedom by plying me with your favors.’’
Kiara remained silent until he departed the room. ‘‘Ya’re the devil himself,’’ she murmured as she watched him leave the room with his head held high.
Bradley entered the parlor with a sense of jubilation. He had Kiara in his clutches, and there was no way for her to escape. He walked to where his wife was seated, leaned down, and placed a dutiful kiss upon her cheek. ‘‘And what did you accomplish today?’’ he asked.
Jasmine smiled up at him. ‘‘You’ll be pleased to hear that I went to visit with Lilly Cheever today. She mentioned there’s a meeting of the Associates tomorrow.’’
‘‘Did you think I would not already know there is a meeting, or did you believe me too senile to remember?’’
She cowered at his remark. ‘‘No, but I was alarmed when she told me there is great concern because many of the mill girls are desperately ill and several have even died. She said the doctors fear there’s some sort of epidemic being spread among them.’’
‘‘Why are you so concerned?’’ he absently inquired.
‘‘I’ve seen the horrible results of an epidemic. We fight malaria and suffer dire consequences almost every year in Mississippi.’’
Bradley glanced over his shoulder in an attempt to see if Kiara had made her way out of the library. There was work that needed his attention and he certainly didn’t want to sit in the parlor with his wife for the remainder of the evening. The door remained slightly ajar and he could not make out if she had exited the room.
Following his gaze, Jasmine leaned forward and peered toward the library. ‘‘Is something amiss? You keep looking toward the other room.’’
‘‘Nothing’s amiss. You need not concern yourself with my every movement.’’
She appeared taken aback by his abrupt reply. ‘‘I understand the conditions in the mills grow poorer every day,’’ she relayed.
‘‘I’ve been told the windows are nailed shut, and with the steam and humidity in the mills, the fiber-filled air becomes deadly for the girls to breathe. I wonder if the girls are becoming ill because their bodies can no longer tolerate the conditions inside the mills.’’
Bradley was relieved to note the library door was now open.
He wanted nothing more than to escape his wife’s company and complete his accounting tasks prior to tomorrow’s meeting.
He rubbed the back of his neck and glowered in her direction.
‘‘Why are you meddling in matters about which you know nothing? You need to keep out of issues relating to my business.’’
‘‘What? But I thought you asked me to mingle with the wives and collect information for you. I’m merely doing as you asked. It seems nothing I do can please you.’’
‘‘I have no time for your childish behavior, Jasmine. I have work to complete.’’ He stormed from the room, knowing she’d not follow after him.
He worked well into the night, transferring and calculating figures, and when he’d finally completed his report for tomorrow’s meeting, he was exhausted. He climbed the stairs while giving momentary thought to Kiara. Tomorrow, he decided. He needed his rest if he was to be at his best in the morning. Besides, let her worry when and if he might enter her room.
The little tramp deserves to be sleepless after the way she’s led me on a chase.
Bradley arrived at the Cheever home the next morning promptly at nine o’clock. As had been Kirk Boott’s custom before him, Matthew Cheever refrained from conducting meetings within the confines of the mills. Too many people could overhear and misinterpret conversations that had never been intended for their ears. Bradley would have preferred they meet in Boston since he had other business that needed his attention in the city. However, Matthew wanted the mill supervisors present at the gathering, and traveling to Boston for a meeting was out of the question for them.
There would be no period of socializing; it was apparent this meeting would be strictly relegated to business. ‘‘As most of you know, we’ve a problem with illness spreading throughout the mills,’’ Matthew began. ‘‘Several girls have died, and there’s fear of other deaths. The doctors have been unable to find a cause for the epidemic. There appears to be no connection other than the fact that those contracting the illness have been, almost exclusively, girls working in the mills.’’
‘‘Do the girls who have become ill live in the boardinghouses?’’ Leonard Montrose inquired.
Matthew shook his head. ‘‘Some live in the boardinghouses; some live elsewhere in town; some live in the Acre.’’
‘‘Any chance it could be the water?’’ Andrew Smith, one of the supervisors, suggested.
‘‘If it were the water, the rest of us would be ill too. It seems there must be some common thread, but for the life of me, I’ve been unable to make the connection.’’
Bradley waved and Matthew nodded for him to speak. ‘‘I was hoping we’d have time to discuss expanding several Southern markets.’’
‘‘Let’s stick to the topic at hand,’’ Matthew replied. ‘‘We need to focus our attention upon discovering the cause of this illness and hopefully finding a cure.’’
‘‘Perhaps we should interview the girls and ascertain all of the details related to their illness. We could then compare notes and see if we can discover the common thread Matthew spoke of,’’ Wilson Harper remarked.
‘‘I’ve located several good prospects in Mississippi as well as in Louisiana who are willing to talk contracts on their cotton,’’ Bradley interjected.
‘‘In light of the fact that we’re attempting to solve the mystery of the illnesses and deaths of these mill girls, Bradley, I find your self-serving attitude abrasive,’’ Leonard said.
Bradley scoffed at the remark. ‘‘Really? Well, I don’t think any of you fine gentlemen were overly concerned about the girls and their illness until production slowed and your profits began to drop. Now that we’re experiencing diminished profits, you’ve donned the cloak of kindness and wave your sword of self-righteousness in my direction. Your behavior emulates my own, whether you care to admit it or not.’’
‘‘We’ll resolve nothing by arguing,’’ Matthew asserted. ‘‘Wilson, will you head up a committee to interview the ill workers?’’
Wilson nodded his agreement.
‘‘I think we need to be mindful of the fact that some of these girls have little in the way of savings,’’ Matthew continued. ‘‘Many, both Yankee and Irish, help support their families with their earnings. Some have no families here in Lowell to help care for them, and certainly few have money to pay for funerals. I think it would behoove us to pay for medical care for the girls and, when necessary, funeral expenses.’’
A murmur of discontent filtered across the room. ‘‘I’m all for trying to find the cause of this illness, but I don’t see why you think the Corporation should be saddled with yet another expense when production profits are already down,’’ Leonard objected.
‘‘The better their care, the quicker they’ll return to their jobs and the sooner profits will rise,’’ Matthew replied.
‘‘There are more and more Irish arriving every day. All of them are looking for work, and they’ll work for lower wages. I say we’d be better off to replace the sick girls with Irish immigrants,’’ Wilson countered.
One of the supervisors stood and asked to be recognized. ‘‘No disrespect, gentlemen, but it takes time to train these girls. You can’t expect a girl who has never worked in the mills to produce at the level of those who’ve been working there for months or even years. Production will continue to falter using such a method.
I bring this to your attention because I know you’ll be l
ooking to the supervisors for answers when you’ve filled all the positions yet there’s no increase in production.’’
‘‘Exactly my point,’’ Matthew agreed. ‘‘Medical care and funeral expenses will be money well spent in goodwill and the return of trained employees.’’
The men continued their bickering, and it was abundantly obvious to Bradley there would be little time for discussion of his cotton if this matter was not resolved. ‘‘I suggest we agree to medical and funeral care but require the girls to sign a covenant agreeing to return to work for a specified period of time or they’ll be obligated to repay the costs. The funeral expenses can be a matter of goodwill. We can hope there will be no more deaths, but if so, perhaps you can work out some arrangement with Mr. Morrison at the funeral home, Matthew. Some type of discount for the Corporation if the number of funerals exceeds three or four in the next several months.’’
‘‘A bit morbid in nature, but I think you’ve struck upon a good idea,’’ Leonard replied.
In quick order the men reached a consensus. ‘‘Now, about my cotton producers,’’ Bradley said, knowing his solution had gained him power for the moment.
Kiara heard Bradley’s footsteps on the stairs and, like a lamb to the slaughter, knew she must submit to his will. He held her brother’s future in his hands, and she could not risk separation from him. Even if she could bear five years apart from him, it would be impossible for Paddy to withstand the rigors of working on a cotton plantation. He would surely die. So she lay quietly, listening for the door to open, awaiting Bradley’s arrival like a dreaded curse.
Oh, God, forgive me, she prayed as the door handle turned. Just keep him from takin’ Paddy away. I can bear anything . . . anything but that.
‘‘I see you have finally taken me seriously,’’ Bradley said, slurring his words badly. No doubt he’d been into his drink this night.
‘‘May God ’ave mercy on yar black soul,’’ Kiara said, scooting up against the wall. ‘‘May ya rot in hell for yar sins.’’
He laughed even as he removed his jacket and began unbuttoning his waistcoat. ‘‘I’m already in hell,’’ he replied. ‘‘There’s nothing more God can do to me. But there’s plenty more I can do. Especially—’’ he cast aside his waistcoat, then sat down on the single rickety chair and pulled at his boots—‘‘especially to you.’’
He grinned wickedly, his eyes narrowing.
When he finally left her room, Kiara was buried deep under the covers. Just as she had listened to him make his ascent to her room, she now heard his heavy footsteps descend the staircase. Bitter tears spilled down her cheeks and her body quaked in heaving sobs as she raised a defiant fist from beneath the covers and cried toward heaven: ‘‘Why don’t ya just kill me if ya care nothin’ about what’s happenin’ in this place? Or must I do that fer meself also?
Is that what ya’re wantin’ from me, God—that I just kill meself and be done with it?’’ Memories of her mother’s admonition that even thinking such thoughts could send her to hell, gave Kiara pause.
Her tears and anger slowly ebbed into the pool of darkness that permeated the room, and for the first time she contemplated death at her own hand. It would be so simple. There were many ways she could attend to the task. Yet when all was said and done, she knew such a feat would prove impossible, for that would leave Paddy alone in the world to fend for himself. And that was a consequence she’d not force him to bear. Nor did she wish to bear further consequences—not in this life or the next.
‘‘My life is over,’’ she whispered into the shroud of blackness.
‘‘There’s no man who would ever be wantin’ the likes of me now—especially a man such as Rogan, with his dreams for a future on a beautiful farm out West.’’
CHAPTER • 23
KIARA WATCHED in delight from the upstairs window as Bradley handed his satchel to the driver and stepped up into the carriage.
Finally he would be gone, and she could go and visit Bridgett on Sunday—and perhaps see Rogan. The thought caused an unexpected smile to tug at her lips. Though she feared there’d be no future for them, Kiara took a moment’s pleasure in imagining it just the same. She might as well allow herself to dream—after all, there wasn’t anything else she could hope for. As soon as the carriage pulled away from the house, she hurried to Jasmine’s room and knocked on the door.
‘‘Are ya ready fer me to fix yar hair, ma’am?’’
‘‘Yes, come in.’’
Kiara carefully brushed and twisted her mistress’s hair into the parted and curled fashion Jasmine particularly liked. ‘‘I was wonderin’ if I could plan on visitin’ Bridgett on Sunday.’’
‘‘Oh, I’m afraid not, Kiara. Bradley will be gone only until Thursday. His plans changed. I’m so sorry. I know I had promised you could go and visit Bridgett.’’
‘‘I understand. Ya’ve no control over such things, ma’am.’’
Jasmine brightened and took Kiara’s hand in her own. ‘‘I know! You can go tomorrow afternoon.’’
‘‘Bridgett will be at work, ma’am. I suppose I could visit with Bridgett’s granna, though. If I can na see Bridgett, ’twould be nice to see Granna. Yes, I’ll go and see her. Thank ya fer yar kindness.’’
After bidding Paddy farewell, Kiara hurried off toward the Acre the next afternoon. She knew the boy longed to come with her, but the horses would need his care, and he dared not leave them unattended.
Jasmine had asked her to stop at Mrs. Paxton’s on her way home to pick up a package. She’d even given her coins for more thread since Mrs. Wainwright had already sold a lace-edged handkerchief to one of her socialite friends in Boston, who was now anxious for more. Kiara had carefully tucked away the money and continued diligently working on the lace during her free moments. It was only after seeing the amount of money people were willing to pay for her lace that Kiara began to think of a plan.
If she could save her coins, she’d take Paddy and run from this place, servitude papers or not—she’d take her chances with the law. She’d not be able to stay in the Acre, of that she was certain, for the Acre would be the first place Mr. Houston would come looking for her. Living in the Acre with Bridgett and Granna Murphy close at hand was Kiara’s desire, but with many Irish immigrants living in Boston, she could surely become acquainted with some of them. Besides, relocating to a larger city would reduce her chances of being discovered.
Kiara arrived in the Acre well before the final bell would toll at the mills. She knocked on the door, expecting to be greeted by Granna Murphy. Instead, Rogan Sheehan welcomed her with a big grin and a hearty greeting. ‘‘Come on in, lass. Granna’s busy preparin’ supper. How is it ya managed to make yar way to the Acre on a weekday?’’
Kiara explained Bradley’s change in plans. ‘‘I knew Bridgett would still be at the mills, but I thought ’twould be nice to visit with Granna, and I’m hopin’ I might have a few minutes with Bridgett before I must leave.’’
Rogan folded his arms across his broad chest, his dark blue eyes alight with an uninhibited cheerfulness. ‘‘What a disappointment this has turned out ta be. Here I thought ya were comin’ ta see me, and now I find ’tis only the womenfolk ya’re wantin’ to visit.’’
She giggled at his response. ‘‘I’m happy to see anyone with a bit o’ Irish blood.’’
‘‘Then ya come to the right place,’’ Granna Murphy said while wiping her hands on a worn cotton apron. ‘‘Come over here and give me a hug.’’
Kiara hurried into the old woman’s arms, delighting in the warmth of the embrace. ‘‘It’s good to see you, Granna. I told Rogan I had hoped to come on Sunday, but it appears that won’t be happenin’.’’
‘‘We’ll be thankful fer what little time ya get with us. Come on into the kitchen. Ya can be stayin’ for supper and visit with Bridgett, and we’ll have us a fine time, Sunday or not.’’
‘‘I do na know if I can stay. I’m supposed to pick up a package for the missus, and I
told Paddy I’d spend time with him when I came home. I wanted to leave before his chores were done, so he could na come along.’’
Rogan sat down on one of the wooden chairs and pushed back until he was balancing the chair on the two back legs. ‘‘Once ya think Paddy’s had enough time to finish with his chores, we can go back through town and get yar supplies and then go to the house and get him. Do ya think the missus would let ya come back if ya told her I’d walk ya back home?’’
Kiara’s heart pounded with excitement. ‘‘I think she’d agree.’’
‘‘Then it’s settled. After a spell we’ll go and get Paddy, and by the time we return, Bridgett will be home and supper will be ready.’’
‘‘But first sit a spell and visit with me,’’ Granna said, pointing to a chair.
Kiara sat down and pulled a piece of lace from her small tapestry bag. ‘‘I hope you do na mind if I work on my lace while we talk.’’
Granna’s eyes danced with mischief. ‘‘Ya’re an industrious young lass. Would ya be makin’ yarself a weddin’ veil?’’
‘‘Ah, don’ ya be givin’ the lass ideas afore I get a chance to win her heart,’’ Rogan teased.
Granna waved her arm as if to shoo him out of the room. ‘‘Go on with ya, Rogan. Ya’re na lookin’ for a wife.’’
‘‘I’m always lookin’ for a lass ta marry me, Granna. I just have na found the right one.’’
‘‘And likely never will,’’ the old woman replied. ‘‘Quit yar teasin’ and let me visit with the lass.’’ Granna turned her attention back to Kiara. ‘‘That’s a pretty pattern ya’re making, and fine work ya do.’’ She lifted one edge of the lace and examined it.
Kiara smiled, basking in the compliment of the old Irish woman. ‘‘The missus asked me to make lace cuffs for her mum for her birthday. I’m wantin’ them to be special. Do ya think she’ll like the wild roses I’ve formed into the lace?’’
‘‘Sure and she’ll be likin’ it, lass. ’Tis a bit of beauty ya’re creating. Bridgett used to like to make the lace too, but since she’s begun workin’ in the mills, there’s nothin’ much she’s wantin’ to do when she gets home but sleep. They’re workin’ long hours, and short of help they are in the mills.’’
Tracie Peterson & Judith Miller - [Lights of Lowell 01] Page 26