‘‘Tell me what I am to do, God,’’ she whispered, dropping to sit upon the hallway stairs.
In the distance, she heard a whisper in return. Trust me.
Startled, she turned to look up the stairway, but no one was with her. No one . . . but God.
CHAPTER• 25
MALCOLM PROPPED his feet upon the footstool in his mother’s parlor and swallowed a gulp of hot tea. His eyes watered, and he covered his mouth for a moment. ‘‘I wish you would have warned me the tea was hot.’’
Alice glanced at her son and chuckled. ‘‘The tea is supposed to be hot, Malcolm. That’s why I place a cozy on the pot—to keep the contents hot.’’
He grinned and nodded. ‘‘Yes, Mother. I had forgotten your penchant for scalding beverages.’’
Before Alice could rebut Malcolm’s comment, Samuel entered the front hallway and, with a loud whack, slammed the front door. Without taking time to clean his boots, he strode into the parlor and thrust a folded missive into his father’s hand. ‘‘Look at this,’’ he said in a commanding tone.
‘‘And you look at that,’’ Alice ordered while pointing her index finger at the mud her grandson had tracked across the floor and onto her carpet.
Samuel scanned the damage and then lifted his boot to check for mud. ‘‘I’m sorry, Grandmother, but this is urgent business.’’
Her lips tightened into a pucker. ‘‘I doubt taking a moment to wipe your feet would cause insufferable damage to your existing problems, although it does damage my new carpet.’’
Samuel gave his grandmother an exasperated sigh. ‘‘If Martha is unable to remedy the destruction I’ve caused, I’ll purchase you a new rug.’’
‘‘So they’re summoning us to a meeting!’’ Malcolm slapped the piece of paper onto the marble-topped table, his hand hitting the saucer and causing his teacup and its contents to fly helter-skelter across the carpet, the cup shattering into several pieces.
Alice grabbed her small brass bell and began to violently shake it back and forth. The ringing didn’t cease until Martha’s footsteps could be heard skittering down the hallway. The housekeeper came to a screeching halt as she entered the room, her unsettled gaze flitting from one catastrophic sight to the next.
‘‘Oh, madam!’’ she gasped with one hand clasping the bodice of her dress.
‘‘I fear we’ve created quite a mess for you, Martha. My apologies,’’ Malcolm said. ‘‘Samuel and I must be off to this meeting, Mother. I don’t know when we shall return.’’
Alice flicked her wrist, shooing the men from the room as if they were two naughty puppies. ‘‘Off with you both. I fear I’d be unable to pay for the damages should the two of you remain in the house much longer.’’
‘‘Do you have your grandmother’s carriage?’’ Malcolm asked as he strode to the hallway and donned his hat and coat.
‘‘Yes, and I asked Martin to wait for us.’’
‘‘Good. I’m in hopes we’ll have at least a short time to confer with McKinley before the meeting begins. Hopefully, he can give us some insight as to the best way to approach these men. From the tone of their note, they’re going to be completely unreasonable. What if I hadn’t been available at their beck and call? Since several of the Boston Associates are in town for the discussion, it’s obvious they planned this meeting in advance.’’
‘‘I couldn’t agree with you more fully,’’ Samuel said as their carriage rolled toward the mill.
Malcolm stared out the carriage window, his brow furrowed. ‘‘McKinley acted completely normal at supper last night. In fact, when I asked if there had been any further developments regarding the shipment, he said there had been none. Do you suppose he was aware of this meeting yet withheld the information from us?’’
‘‘I doubt he would be privy to much information. The Corporation wouldn’t want him forced to compromise his loyalty. And even if he did know, his first obligation is to his employer, not the cotton growers in Mississippi,’’ Samuel replied.
‘‘His first loyalty is to his family—or at least it should be,’’ Malcolm contradicted.
‘‘Father, let’s not get caught up in a discussion regarding McKinley’s obligations to the family. We need to remain focused upon the meeting.’’
Malcolm nodded. ‘‘You’re right. Do let me take the lead if they become antagonistic.’’
‘‘Thank you for your concern, but you’re not the one responsible for resolving this problem. I’m the one who was selected as the buyer for the Lowell mills.’’
‘‘I am, however, the one who recommended you for the position, and the end result of this issue will affect the entire family as well as our friends and neighbors in Mississippi. However, I will acquiesce if that’s what you prefer.’’
‘‘It is,’’ Samuel stated with a decisive nod.
They disembarked the carriage outside the Appleton Mill. After a brief glance toward the interior of the mill yard, Malcolm followed Samuel inside. On their previous visit, they had been confronted with the defective bales of cotton; today’s meeting would likely prove every bit as taxing. Samuel led them directly into Matthew Cheever’s office, where Wilson Harper, Nathan Appleton, and Leonard Montrose had already gathered. McKinley was seated behind a table piled with ledgers, directly to Matthew’s left.
‘‘Gentlemen,’’ Samuel greeted. ‘‘Good to see all of you.’’
‘‘I wish I could say the same,’’ Leonard muttered.
Matthew glowered at Leonard. ‘‘Please take a seat and we’ll get started. I know all of you are busy, and we want to make this meeting as productive as possible.’’
‘‘Don’t see how that can be done,’’ Leonard murmured.
‘‘Leonard, would you please cease your comments. They’re distracting and unnecessary,’’ Nathan said before turning his bespectacled gaze upon Samuel. ‘‘On behalf of the Boston Associates, I am requesting a full report of what has occurred regarding the latest shipment of cotton, Mr. Wainwright. We will expect your explanation, remedy, and plan for guaranteeing we will not undergo a repetition of this ruinous episode if we decide to continue using you as our buyer. For now, I would at least appreciate some form of oral explanation I can share with the other members. Needless to say, they are more than a little unhappy.’’
Malcolm’s gaze had shifted back and forth between his two sons during the course of Nathan’s reproach. Samuel had turned pale. Behind the pile of books and ledgers, McKinley’s complexion shone bright red. Malcolm wanted to rescue his sons—the eldest obviously overwrought with fear, the youngest appearing completely embarrassed or angry, he wasn’t certain which.
Samuel sat with his hands tightly wrapped around the arms of his chair, his fingers turning the whitish-purple hue of a corpse. ‘‘You may assure all of the Associates I will be filing a detailed written report,’’ he said. ‘‘However, it is impossible to give you information until I’ve had time to investigate. After a cursory examination several days ago, I’ve been unable to probe into this matter any further. May I have freedom to examine the entire shipment? Depending upon what I find, I’ll know the next step that must be taken.’’
‘‘What do you need to examine? The product is unacceptable, and we’re left to develop a plan for the operation of the mills without adequate cotton,’’ Leonard snarled.
Nathan signaled Leonard to silence himself. ‘‘As I’m sure you surmised before arriving here today, tempers are short and nerves are stretched taut. We’ve been placed in the precarious position of closing down at least one mill. That means telling employees they no longer have positions with the Corporation. Obviously the Associates want answers, and they are looking to you, Samuel. We will give you freedom to examine the shipment, but I’d appreciate something to report back as soon as possible.’’
Samuel massaged his forehead for a moment. ‘‘I want to more closely examine the markings on the bales to assure myself they all carry the stamp designated for the shipments to Lowell
and satisfy myself that the entire shipment is flawed.’’
‘‘Even so, we remain without the necessary cotton to continue production,’’ Nathan reiterated.
‘‘Is there no way we can use the cotton we received?’’ Leonard asked while scratching his beard.
Nathan slapped his palm on the desk. ‘‘Absolutely not! Doing so would be worse than closing down the mill. We’ve worked for years to build our reputation. I’ll not jeopardize it by using inferior product.’’
Wilson Harper, who had been unusually silent, addressed Samuel. ‘‘Does anybody use cotton of that substandard quality?’’
‘‘A few of the smaller mills here and the mills in England will take whatever they can get from us,’’ he replied.
Nathan cleared his throat. ‘‘I’m sorry to say that the majority of the Associates have lost their trust in your ability to act as buyer, Samuel. It brings me no pleasure to tell you that your position with us is tenuous at best.’’
McKinley gasped at Mr. Appleton’s statement and Malcolm jumped to his feet, no longer able to remain silent. ‘‘Tenuous? Perhaps you need to explain to the remainder of your Boston Associates that they have benefited greatly by Samuel’s representation among the Southern cotton growers. Do you so quickly forget the plaudits all of you heaped upon Samuel at your dinner meeting in Boston? Should Samuel lose his position, your Corporation will lose all of the Wainwright cotton as well as every other grower we’ve brought to you. It is the Wainwright power that has caused you to significantly prosper these last few years, and that influence can be withdrawn at any moment.’’
‘‘Is that a threat?’’ Nathan asked.
‘‘That, sir, is a promise,’’ Malcolm replied, his voice low and menacing.
‘‘Father . . .’’ Samuel started.
Malcolm shook his head. ‘‘I’ll not be silenced. If these men want to intimidate you by saying your position is tenuous, after one mistake—a mistake that most likely was not of your doing, then let them know the truth: their cotton supply depends upon the Wainwrights. When you return to Boston,’’ he said, setting his eyes on each man in turn, ‘‘do take a moment or two and tell your Associates that I can produce a myriad of letters from mills all over England that are willing to go to any length in order to have our cotton. It is not the Wainwrights or the cotton producers who will suffer by your actions; it is your own corporation. You will close more than one mill if you continue down this path.’’
Matthew motioned Malcolm to take his seat. ‘‘No need to become overwrought. We must all work together to resolve this situation. There are, after all, many who are going to be laid off and possibly lose their jobs. I heartily believe that Samuel did not intentionally send us a bad shipment of cotton. However, the fact remains, a bad shipment is what we received. Neither side will accomplish anything with idle threats. We need to work toward finding a resolution.’’
‘‘Then if we’re agreed to that fact, may I go and examine the bales?’’ Samuel asked.
‘‘Absolutely,’’ Matthew replied. ‘‘I believe everything has been said for now. We’ll look forward to your report.’’
Malcolm donned his hat and fell in step with Samuel as they departed, both equally determined to uncover what had gone amiss with this latest shipment. Not only was Samuel’s position at stake, but the Wainwright family name also hung in the balance.
And Malcolm would not see their reputation tarnished—particularly by a group of Northern businessmen.
‘‘Father, wait!’’
The sound of clattering footsteps and McKinley’s urgent plea caused Malcolm to stop and turn. His brows arched in surprise. ‘‘Yes?’’
‘‘I told Mr. Cheever I could not sit idly by while Samuel was taken to task for an error over which he’d had no control. You’ve performed exceptionally for the Corporation, Samuel, and I’m appalled by their ability to forget your record of accomplishments when one error occurs. Mr. Cheever needs to realize that my family is important to me also.’’
‘‘Thank you, McKinley. I appreciate your loyalty,’’ Samuel said. ‘‘However, if this issue cannot be quickly resolved, you may decide your loyalty has been misplaced. The Associates may decide they want neither of us.’’
Malcolm tugged at his collar. ‘‘And what difference? We were doing well with the English before Bradley Houston convinced us to change our loyalties to the American mills. My statement to those men was no idle threat—they’ll go begging for cotton if they continue down this arbitrary path of intimidation.’’ His words shot through the air like tiny darts bearing lethal venom.
With a wry grin upon his lips, Samuel said, ‘‘But aren’t you behaving in the same manner, Father? That’s why I asked you to let me speak at the meeting.’’
‘‘Too late now. We’ve placed our cards on the table. At least they know we’re not frightened.’’
McKinley nodded. ‘‘Of that fact, there’s little doubt.’’
Malcolm clapped Samuel on the back. ‘‘Aha! You see? A strong offense is exactly what was needed.’’
‘‘No, Father,’’ Samuel said. ‘‘What is needed is a truthful explanation of exactly what occurred. If I don’t find the answer, neither the Associates nor I will ever again feel comfortable in our working relationship.’’
‘‘You may not feel comfortable, but you’ll be their buyer until you decide to terminate your position. And therein lies the difference,’’ Malcolm retorted in an austere tone he seldom used with his family.
‘‘McKinley, I want you to return to work,’’ Samuel directed.
‘‘You’ve expressed your feelings to both Mr. Cheever and to me, and I appreciate that fact. However, there’s nothing more you can do, and I would prefer you went back to your office.’’
McKinley looked back and forth between Samuel and his father, his gaze finally settling upon Malcolm. ‘‘Do as your brother has requested. Who knows? You may garner information that will be helpful to us,’’ Malcolm instructed.
‘‘If you believe that’s what’s best, I’ll do so, but know that if you need my assistance, I will make myself available to you,’’ McKinley promised.
Malcolm settled beside Samuel as the train departed the Lowell station. ‘‘I’m certain your grandmother is going to be unhappy when Martin delivers the message we’ve departed for Boston without so much as a good-bye.’’
Samuel grinned. ‘‘While the Boston Associates cause you little fear and trembling, it appears Grandmother has maintained her touch.’’
Malcolm laughed aloud for the first time in several days. ‘‘Your grandmother is a woman to be reckoned with, and it’s best none of us forgets it!’’
‘‘I believe Jasmine’s the only one who of us who has developed the ability to influence Grandmother, rather than the other way around.’’
‘‘You may be correct on that account. Curiously, they do seem to get on rather well—perhaps because they have much the same temperament.’’
They fell silent, and Malcolm stared out the window, his thoughts flitting about like pebbles skipping across a vast expanse of water. What if they couldn’t resolve this issue with the cotton? He’d blustered about the English and their desire for his cotton, yet he had little desire to realign with the overseas market. Not that he wouldn’t do so, but he much preferred the current arrangement. And Jasmine! What was he to do in order to heal the widening breach among his children? He wanted to die knowing they could always rely upon each other. They were family, and family needed to remain intact, even if disagreements occurred.
‘‘Father. . . . Father!’’
Malcolm startled to attention and gave Samuel a sheepish grin when he realized the train was pulling into the Boston station. ‘‘Sorry. I wasn’t very good company. I’m afraid I became absorbed in my own thoughts. What is it?’’
‘‘I assume we’ll go straight to the docks?’’
‘‘Yes. I’ll talk to the agent and examine the company’s ledgers. If the
Americus has not yet set sail, see if you can locate the captain and gather any information from him.’’
The docks were teeming with passengers wielding their cumbersome baggage and surrounded by families who had come to bid them farewell. The beefy dock workers paid the intruders little heed while loading goods onto the ships lining the harbor. Malcolm grasped Samuel by the arm as they neared the Eastern America Shipping Company’s office. ‘‘I’m sure the agent can tell us if the ship has already sailed.’’
Samuel hurried into the shipping office and leaned across the counter. ‘‘Has the Americus set sail for New Orleans?’’ he called to the agent.
The agent strode toward them and glanced at the clock. ‘‘Not due to cast off for at least another hour.’’
Malcolm shook hands with the agent. ‘‘Malcolm Wainwright and my son Samuel.’’
‘‘Pleased to make your acquaintance. Jacob Hodde,’’ the agent replied, pointing to the inscription of his name above the counter.
‘‘Any chance they’d depart ahead of schedule?’’ Malcolm inquired.
The agent gave a hearty laugh. ‘‘Unless the captain chained his crew on board the ship last night, I doubt they’ll cast off for at least another three hours. They’ll all be nursing the effects of too much rum and ale—probably take the better part of that time for the crew to stagger on board.’’
‘‘You see if you can locate the captain, and I’ll remain and visit with Mr. Hodde,’’ Malcolm said.
‘‘It’s Captain Whitlow,’’ the agent called after Samuel.
Samuel waved and continued moving toward the door.
The agent shook his head. ‘‘Young folks—they’re always in a hurry.’’
‘‘Indeed,’’ Malcolm agreed, giving the agent a friendly smile. ‘‘I wonder if you might allow me to examine the records you
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