A LOVE
WOVEN TRUE
Books by Tracie Peterson
www.traciepeterson.com
The Long-Awaited Child • 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 OF 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
RIBBONS OF STEEL†
Distant Dreams • A Promise for Tomorrow
RIBBONS WEST†
Westward the Dream • Ties That Bind
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
*with Judith Miller †with Judith Pella ‡with James Scott Bell
**with Allison Bottke and Dianne O’Brian
06C
TRACIE PETERSON
AND
JUDITH MILLER
A LOVE
WOVEN TRUE
A Love Woven True
Copyright © 2005
Tracie Peterson and Judith Miller
Cover design by Dan Thornberg
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
Paperback: ISBN-13: 978-0-7642-2895-7 ISBN-10: 0-7642-2895-1
Large Print: ISBN-13: 978-0-7642-0010-6 ISBN-10: 0-7642-0010-0
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Peterson, Tracie.
A love woven true / by Tracie Peterson and Judith Miller.
p. cm. — (Lights of Lowell ; bk. 2)
ISBN 0-7642-2895-1 (pbk.) — ISBN 0-7642-0010-0 (large-print paperback)
1. Conflict of generations—Fiction. 2. Fathers and daughters—Fiction.
3. Women landowners—Fiction. 4. Textile industry—Fiction. 5. Lowell (Mass.)— Fiction. 6. Abduction—Fiction. 7. Freedmen—Fiction. 8. Widows—Fiction.
I. Miller, Judith. II. Title. III. Series.
PS3566.E7717L688 2005
813'.54—dc22
2004020014
To Gerry Perry
a woman I greatly admire
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
TRACIE PETERSON is a popular speaker and bestselling author who has written over sixty 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.
CHAPTER• 1
October 1849, Lowell, Massachusetts
JASMINE HOUSTON trembled uncontrollably. Surely her brother-in-law was mistaken!
‘‘I’m to return home to The Willows immediately? Please,’’ she said, extending her shaking hand in Nolan’s direction. Her voice sounded strangely foreign to her own ears, and she cleared her throat before attempting to once again speak. ‘‘Permit me to read the missive for myself.’’ The high-pitched quiver remained in her voice, ruining any hope of appearing unruffled by Nolan’s news.
Nolan’s brow furrowed into deep creases. ‘‘I’m sorry. In my haste to arrive, I failed to bring the letter with me.’’
She lowered herself onto the ivory brocade settee and met her brother-in-law’s concerned gaze. ‘‘Does my father say why he penned the missive to you instead of corresponding directly with me? And why did Samuel say nothing of our mother’s failing health when he was in Massachusetts? Surely if Mother’s health hung in the balance, Samuel would have sent word.’’ Giving Nolan a feeble smile before continuing, she said, ‘‘Perhaps Mother is merely languishing since suffering with yellow fever this summer. What with her bouts of melancholy, she tends to be somewhat slow in healing from any illness. I suspect Father is hoping a visit from little Spencer and me will cause her to rally.’’
‘‘It certainly could do no harm.’’
Jasmine gave an emphatic nod. ‘‘It will take time to make preparations for the journey. Traveling with a child of nearly two is not quite as simple as one might think. And, of course, I’ll need to make inquiry concerning when a vessel will be sailing. Also, I must see to Grandmother Wainwright. She’s been ailing this past week.’’ She hesitated for a moment. ‘‘And you say Mammy isn’t well either?’’ Her thoughts were jumbled, and she now realized her words had poured forth in a mishmash of confusion.
‘‘That’s what your father indicated in his letter,’’ Nolan softly replied.
‘‘I must admit I am exceedingly surprised to hear that piece of news. The fact that Mammy would remain in a weakened condition after her supposed recovery several months ago is disconcerting. She’s always been strong and healthy. Perhaps Father was overstating matters in order to ensure my return to The Willows for a visit.’’
‘‘There is always that possibility. And your grandmother? What ails her? I thought she might give consideration to making the journey as well.’’
Jasmine began pacing, quickly covering the length of the parlor and returning several times. ‘‘The doctor fears she may have pneumonia. Grandmother says it’s merely an attack of ague and will soon pass. However, she does have a troublesome cough, and I doubt whether she’s strong enough to travel. Then again, she’s a stubborn woman. Who knows what she may decide. But unless she makes a quick recovery, I believe she should remain in Lowell.’’
‘‘You’re likely correct on that account. The journey from Massachusetts to Mississippi could prove harrowing for her. Hearin
g of her condition only serves to confirm the decision I made upon receiving your father’s letter,’’ Nolan said.
Jasmine glanced over her shoulder as she continued crisscrossing the room. ‘‘And what decision would that be?’’
‘‘I plan to accompany you and Spencer to The Willows.’’
Her pacing came to an abrupt halt at the far end of the room.
Turning toward him, Jasmine flushed at the overwhelming sense of warmth she felt for Nolan. His obvious concern touched her.
‘‘I can’t ask you to do such a thing, Nolan. The commitment of time required to make the journey is unreasonable to ask of anyone— other than a family member, of course.’’
His gaze fell. ‘‘Am I not family?’’ His question was barely audible.
‘‘Oh, what have I said? Of course you’re family. My comment was directed toward Father’s request that Spencer and I make the journey.’’ Taking several quick steps, she came to a halt in front of him before meeting his questioning gaze. ‘‘Surely you realize that Spencer and I couldn’t have survived since Bradley’s death without you. Spencer has come to look upon you as his very favorite visitor. In fact, he often demonstrates his displeasure over the fact that you live in Concord rather than Lowell. He would, of course, prefer more frequent visits.’’
Nolan gave a slight nod, but his lips remained fixed in a taut, thin line. She feared he was weighing her response much too critically, so she hastened to explain further. ‘‘I find the fact that you would be away from Massachusetts for such a long period of time to be a matter of grave concern. I can’t expect you to make yourself available every time difficulty arises in my life.’’
His gaze softened. ‘‘Of course you can. That is exactly what I want. You and Spencer are my only remaining family. How could I ever consider any request from you a burden? Besides, you didn’t ask me—I offered to accompany you. As for my work, you may recall I can write as easily at the plantation as I can in Concord— or anyplace else, for that matter.’’
‘‘Yes. In fact I remember quite well.’’ A faint smile crossed her lips as she recollected the antislavery articles Nolan had penned after his first visit to The Willows. Words that had stirred the hearts of abolitionists and also drawn the fiery criticism of the pro-slavery movement. Words that had set Nolan at odds with his brother, Bradley, and provoked a seething anger from her father and other Wainwright men. And it had been Nolan’s words that had convinced those same men their anger was misplaced. With carefully chosen words, he had cajoled them into admitting they supported free speech and, in turn, his right to argue against their stance on the slavery issue. Finally they had decided to call a truce. With the distinct understanding, however, that such an agreement merely served as permission for all of them to disagree in a civil— and silent—manner over their personal feelings on the topic of slavery.
‘‘I imagine you do,’’ he said, returning her smile. ‘‘Incidentally, I hope you won’t think me intrusive, but I did take the liberty of sending word to Mr. Sheppard at Houston and Sons that you will be sailing as soon as preparations have been completed for your journey. I have little doubt there will be a ship awaiting us when we arrive in Boston.’’
‘‘I’m certain your foresight will prove helpful in expediting our voyage,’’ she replied, giving him a pensive gaze. Jasmine knew they would be traveling after the first picking, and any slowdown in cotton shipments could prove costly. ‘‘Let us hope our journey won’t interfere with the crop shipments. No doubt harvest will have begun in earnest by the time we arrive, but I wouldn’t want my personal travel to be the cause of any delay.’’
‘‘Your father requested your presence at The Willows. I’m certain he values your visit more highly than the cotton crop. Please don’t fret over any possible delay with the ship’s voyage to New Orleans.’’
‘‘So long as it’s Wainwright cotton, I suppose you’re right. However, I doubt any of the other producers would be so forgiving should their shipments be hindered. Did you happen to inquire regarding their future schedules?’’
‘‘As a matter of fact, I met with Mr. Sheppard last week to examine the books of Houston and Sons, and he gave me what he hoped would be a final plan for the upcoming month. Our travel should coincide nicely. By the way, you’ll be pleased to know that all is in order with the shipping company. It continues to turn a nice profit, and the investments you’re setting aside for Spencer are accumulating handsomely. Of course, the cotton shipments between New Orleans and Boston provide our greatest profit.’’
‘‘Thank you, Nolan. Since Bradley’s death, I’ve never once worried about Houston and Sons Shipping Line. I know you’ve performed the necessary duties to keep everything operating smoothly. And I’m pleased you retained Mr. Sheppard. I think he feared losing his position when you assumed management of the business.’’
He chuckled. ‘‘We both know that would have been a disaster. I would be miserable attempting to operate any business on a daily basis. This arrangement has succeeded nicely for all of us. In fact, his work load has increased steadily as the business has grown. I’m amazed at the amount of cotton the company is now shipping. A mixed blessing, I suppose.’’
She nodded in agreement. ‘‘I understand what you’re thinking. It’s a complicated situation I find myself thrust into. With much of the cotton being grown on Wainwright plantations, I feel somewhat the hypocrite when I attend the antislavery meetings or when I state my opposition to the Southern bondage. Speaking of the Southern mindset, you still haven’t told me why Father wrote his letter to you.’’
Nolan directed her back toward the settee and then patted her hand as though she were a fragile piece of china that might fracture at any moment. ‘‘I believe your father worried you would be overly distraught receiving news of the ongoing illnesses of both your mother and Mammy. He decided his concerns might be less worrisome if delivered personally—knowing someone would be with you when you actually heard the news. As for your questions regarding your brother Samuel, you must remember his schedule is continually filled with business meetings when he is in Lowell. Besides, with all of his traveling, I doubt he has been able to spend much time at The Willows during these past months.’’
Jasmine wrung a lace-edged handkerchief between her fingers and frowned at Nolan. In spite of October’s chilly sting, she blotted the linen square to her cheeks and forehead. ‘‘It’s terribly warm in here, don’t you think?’’
‘‘As a matter of fact, I thought the room rather cool and drafty. I hope you aren’t taking ill. Are you feeling faint?’’
‘‘Of course not! You’re beginning to sound like Father, always thinking women will faint at the first sign of bad news,’’ she replied while continuing to dab her face. ‘‘I’m perfectly fine. Now tell me more of what Father said in his letter.’’ Before Nolan could answer, Jasmine’s gaze shifted toward the stairway. ‘‘It sounds as though Spencer has awakened from his nap. If you’ll excuse me,’’ she said while tucking her handkerchief into the pocket of her apricot merino dress.
‘‘Please,’’ he said, immediately jumping to his feet, ‘‘let me go and fetch him. It’s been nearly two weeks since my last visit. I’m anxious to see my nephew.’’
She resettled herself on the settee. ‘‘As you wish.’’
Nolan’s pleasure was obvious as he bounded toward the stairway. ‘‘He’s likely grown at least an inch during my absence,’’ he ventured, his words floating into the parlor.
‘‘I don’t believe he’s grown quite that quickly, but there’s little doubt your presence will bring him great delight,’’ she called back toward the hallway.
The sound of Nolan’s footsteps grew fainter as he hastened up the stairs. Had Bradley ever hurried in such a fashion to see his own son? If he had, Jasmine could no longer remember. Of course, Spencer had been only an infant when Bradley died; her comparison was doubtless unfair. Yet that realization didn’t quiet the longing that stirred deep wit
hin her. In only moments she would hear Spencer’s unbridled cries of joy burst forth like a heralding trumpet. How she longed to have a father for her son— how she longed to have a loving husband’s arms embrace her . . . and to lovingly embrace a husband in return.
Regrettably, she harbored only unhappy recollections of her marriage to Bradley. Oh, he’d professed to love her in the beginning, but even then she’d known their marriage was no more than a profitable liaison between theWainwrights and himself. The true desires of Bradley’s heart had been power and money. The Wainwright family had provided a viable connection to the cotton Bradley needed to procure for his success—and their marriage had sealed the much-needed link to secure his lucrative future. Unfortunately, their union had been a fraud from the beginning.
When Bradley met with his untimely demise, most who knew him felt either pity or revulsion for the life he’d led. As for Jasmine, she had experienced a little of each, but her focus had remained on Spencer. He was her joy: the light of her life, the pure pleasure God had given her. Spencer had burst forth from a dismal marriage like a single rose unfolding each petal and coming into full bloom after an unforgiving drought. His tiny life had given her more pleasure than she imagined possible, and had it not been for Spencer, Jasmine would likely have harkened to her father’s plea and returned to live at The Willows.
Her nerves had been taut with anxiety. How could she suitably explain her decision to remain in Massachusetts without causing her family sorrow? After all, most people would view a young widow’s return to the bosom of her family quite appropriate— would even expect it. In addition to being a youthful woman set apart by her widow’s weeds, she was a misplaced Southerner living amongst Yankees, both facts that her father would quickly draw to her attention. She had carefully prepared, however, her words judiciously framed as she pointed to Grandmother Wainwright’s increasing dependency upon her as she grew older and her health began to fail. She’d also explained that the rigors of making such a move would likely prove an overwhelming task so soon after Spencer’s birth. However, the truth had been that Jasmine didn’t want her son reared in a culture that perpetuated slavery. Making such a statement to her father would have breached their relationship— perhaps permanently, a risk she was unwilling to take. Although Jasmine fervently disagreed with her family’s views on slavery, she would never intentionally damage her relationship with them. She disagreed with her family, but she loved them in spite of their beliefs.
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