These Tangled Threads

by Tracie Peterson

  He didn’t wait for a response. Shoving back from the table, he bid the men farewell and exited the tavern. He’d not soon become mired in another situation in which strangers could question him. The evening had proven a failure. Not only had he managed to raise suspicion about himself, but he had come away from the gaming table without so much as a few extra coins. He would pen a letter to Thurston this evening telling him John Farnsworth’s nephew had been recently wed. Thaddeus doubted whether he would find the information of great interest, but William had promised to pay for any details relating to the mills, its employees, or those highfalutin’ Boston Associates. Of course, he couldn’t expect much remuneration for such an insignificant morsel. Another journey to Lowell would be necessary to ferret out the latest happenings, he decided.

  Mrs. Hobson was peeking from behind the dust-filled draperies that hung like red-clad sentries protecting the front window of her boardinghouse. Thaddeus gave a quick wave of his hand, for he wanted the snooping woman to know he had seen her. Mrs. Hobson was everything he detested in a woman: she was meddlesome, devious, and gossiping. But as far as Thaddeus was concerned, most women filled that description. Her boardinghouse, however, was inexpensive and, as much as he hated to admit it, she did serve a decent meal. He entered the foyer and immediately walked into the parlor, where Mrs. Hobson sat demurely stitching a piece of embroidery.

  He leveled a beady-eyed glare in the woman’s direction. “Is there some particular reason you were peeking through the draperies, Mrs. Hobson?”

  “I heard a rapping noise outside the house and was checking to see if an animal was on the porch.”

  “I didn’t know animals were endowed with the ability to rap,” he replied with a sneer.

  Mrs. Hobson’s cheeks flushed bright pink. Pleased with himself, Thaddeus turned on his heel and marched up the stairs and then down the narrow hallway to his room. After loosening his collar, he seated himself at the small table, took up his pen, and began composing a letter to William Thurston. After embellishing the report as much as he dared, Thaddeus folded the missive and placed it on the chest. He’d post it first thing tomorrow, he decided while disrobing for bed.

  A short time later he settled his wiry body beneath the bedcovers, but sleep eluded him. His mind was filled with thoughts of his former wife. Even though he loathed the prospect of once again returning to their former home in Lowell, he relished the discomfort his visits to Lowell caused Naomi. His jaw tightened at the thought of her. He knew when he married her she would require a heavy hand if she were to become a suitable wife. He had attempted to make Naomi into a decent, respectable woman. Unfortunately, he hadn’t succeeded in changing her. Their marriage had been a disaster—all because of Naomi’s behavior, of course. And yet everyone had taken her side, accusing him of mistreatment. Even the management at the mills had aligned themselves with Naomi. Why, Matthew Cheever had even gained corporate consent for Naomi and his daughter to remain in the house their family had occupied while he was supervisor of the spinning floor. Such an occurrence was previously unheard of—and yet Naomi and their daughter, Theona, still remained in the house, an ever-present thorn in his side.

  Calling at the house on the pretense of visiting their daughter did, however, give him a valid excuse for his return trips to Lowell. Unfortunately, his former wife hadn’t proved the font of information he had hoped for. In fact, she preferred to remain silent while he was in the house. However, one of her boarders would occasionally pass along some interesting scrap—that’s how he had discovered Taylor Manning was to be married. In order to garner any information of value on his next visit to Lowell, he would most likely be forced to visit the Acre or at least a local pub. He didn’t relish the thought, for too many of the locals remembered the reason he’d been dismissed from the mills. They enjoyed the opportunity to look down their self-righteous noses at him. But one day that would all change.

  Taking pleasure in the satisfying thought, Thaddeus pulled the scratchy wool blanket under his chin. Yes, one day those supercilious Associates and the haughty townspeople of Lowell would pay for what they’d done to him.

  CHAPTER 6

  Lowell

  November

  Daughtie rushed down the stairs carrying a stack of fabric, her navy blue cottage bonnet swinging back and forth from one finger as she made her descent. “I hope everyone is ready, because we’re going to be late if we don’t hurry,” she called out toward the kitchen.

  “I’m helping Theona with her cape and then we’ll be with you,” Mrs. Arnold replied, her voice drifting into the hallway from the rear of the house.

  Ruth came through the parlor. “I’m ready,” she said while tying the wide green ribbons of her bonnet into a fashionable bow beneath her chin. She nodded toward the fabric in Daughtie’s arms. “Do you want me to carry some of that?”

  Daughtie loosened her grip, and Ruth gathered half of the cloth into her own arms. “I didn’t realize you had accumulated so much fabric since our last meeting,” Ruth remarked.

  “It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” Mrs. Arnold said as she led Theona by the hand. “I think we’re ready. Do you need some additional help with the cloth?”

  Daughtie shook her head. “No, we can manage. You look after Theona. Are you excited to be visiting the Cheevers, Theona?”

  The little girl bobbed her head up and down, her dark curls springing about with each nod. “I wike Viowet,” she said in her lisping toddler voice.

  “I’m certain you do. She’s a sweet little girl—just like you,” Daughtie said, using her free hand to tug the hood of Theona’s cape up over the child’s head. “There. It’s chilly outside. You’ll want to keep your ears warm.”

  They walked more slowly than usual since Theona’s short legs were unable to accommodate the stride of her elders. Finally the child’s mother swooped her up. “I think I can carry her the remaining distance,” Mrs. Arnold told them.

  “We’re right on time,” Daughtie reassured Mrs. Arnold as they walked up the steps of the Cheevers’ front porch and lifted the brass door knocker.

  The front door opened and Theona squealed in delight. “Viowet!” The child squirmed for release from her mother’s arms.

  The women smiled as they watched the two girls nearly fall atop each other while attempting to embrace. “Rowena is going to care for the girls upstairs in Violet’s nursery,” Lilly told Mrs. Arnold.

  “Oh, but that seems unfair. I’m sure she’d rather be downstairs with the other women. I can go up with the girls.”

  Rowena came out of the parlor in a flurry. “Oh no. I get to watch after the girls. My stitching is atrocious, and I utterly detest any type of sewing. My mother considers herself a failure because I can’t stitch a straight hem,” Rowena confided with a giggle.

  Naomi gave Rowena a sweet smile. “If you insist. But if Theona becomes a burden or if she fails to mind properly, please come and get me,” she said before turning to Theona and removing the child’s cape. “You be a good girl and mind Miss Rowena.”

  “I will,” the child promised, giving her mother a dimple-cheeked smile.

  “She’s a beautiful little girl,” Lilly remarked as the women walked into the parlor.

  Naomi nodded. “Yes, sometimes I can’t believe she’s actually mine. I mean, when you consider the appearance of Thaddeus and me, it’s rather difficult to believe we could produce such a beautiful child.”

  Lilly grasped Naomi’s hand in her own. “Nonsense! You’re a lovely woman, Naomi, and God’s very own creation.”

  Naomi grinned. “One of His lesser accomplishments, I fear. Now, let’s get started with our sewing or we’ll not have sufficient time to complete our final quilt this evening.”

  The women had been working consistently throughout the year at their weekly gatherings and, as time permitted, at home. Lilly Cheever, along with Addie and Mintie Beecher, Bella, Daughtie, and Ruth, had formed a Ladies Aid group that had grown over the past two years. Originally
they had organized to stitch a few blankets and garments for the needy residents of Lowell. The number of participants in their group that first year had been limited and production had been meager. But thanks to Lilly Cheever’s influence, they had, since the beginning of the year, been able to secure the end pieces of cloth made in the mills. That fact alone had caused the members to enlist the help of additional women. The variety of fabrics now made it possible to create an array of goods rather than the few quilts they’d managed to produce during those first years.

  The founders of the group, however, continued to maintain secrecy concerning a portion of the goods that they distributed to the Irish community. “No need to borrow trouble,” the women had decided before expanding their membership. It was difficult to determine in advance who might be offended by the prospect of assisting the disadvantaged Irish folks living in the Acre. While the larger group met weekly at the Episcopal church, the original members plus one or two trusted newcomers, such as Mrs. Arnold, had remained intact and continued to meet at the Cheever residence on Thursday evenings.

  “I’ve been wondering about our distribution this year, ladies,” Lilly started. “Miss Beecher, Naomi, and I have been attending the weekly gatherings at the Episcopal church during the daytime as well as our Thursday evening group. I think they will agree that production this year far exceeds our expectations. We’ve even had a number of ladies bringing older clothing to donate. With the exception of those goods going to the Acre, I wonder if we should rely upon the churches to distribute the goods. What do you think?”

  “We’d certainly have to determine how much would go to each church. There may be a larger membership at St. Anne’s, but the needs of the parishioners aren’t as great there, either. I would guess that some of the Baptists and Methodists could use more help,” Mintie replied.

  “We certainly don’t want to offend or humiliate anyone,” Daughtie quietly offered. “Could the preachers make an announcement during church services? The preachers could prepare a list of needs for us to fill and then distribute the items. That way the names of the recipients could be kept private—only their pastor would know.”

  Lilly gave Daughtie’s hand a reassuring pat. “That’s a wonderful idea, Daughtie. I think folks would appreciate maintaining their privacy.”

  Mintie’s forehead creased in deep lines before she jabbed her needle into the quilt. “Pride! When folks are set on keeping their need private, it’s nothing but pride.”

  “Well, I for one, don’t think it’s any of our business who receives these items,” Mrs. Arnold replied. “It’s difficult enough admitting to yourself when you need help. Even if other folks realize you’re in dire straits, a person needs to be able to hold her head up in public.”

  “As I said—pride,” Mintie repeated, her pinched features revealing the lines of her age.

  “And what foible is it that requires one to know who is the recipient of one’s charity? Wouldn’t that, too, be a form of pride, Miss Beecher?” Daughtie’s voice was barely audible, yet the attention of every woman in the room focused upon her before slowly shifting back to Mintie Beecher.

  Mintie’s eyes flashed with anger. “Well, I never,” she sputtered.

  Daughtie gave the older woman a retiring smile and prayed God would provide the perfect words to resolve this situation. “I’m sure you never considered the concept prideful. I am certain a woman of your stature and Christian compassion would never intentionally promote an attitude of pride,” she said in a gentle tone. She held her breath, awaiting Mintie’s reply.

  Mintie twisted her neck, shifting her head upward as though she were attempting to keep her nose above water. “You’re absolutely correct, Daughtie. I wouldn’t want to act in a prideful manner. Thank you for that kind revelation. I think we should follow Daughtie’s suggestion.”

  Daughtie softly exhaled and returned Mintie’s smile. “Thank you, Miss Beecher.”

  “Tut, tut, right is right. Let’s finish this quilt or we’ll still be stitching come Christmas. I hear tell there’s to be an antislavery meeting at the Pawtucket church in December,” the older woman noted, skillfully changing the topic of discussion.

  Lilly cut a piece of thread and deftly drew it through the eye of her needle. “I’m hoping Matthew will agree to attend, although I’m not certain he’ll find it wise.”

  “Why would your husband find it imprudent?” Naomi inquired.

  “Matthew is reliant upon the Corporation for his employment. The Corporation is reliant upon plantation owners for cotton. The plantation owners are reliant upon slaves to cultivate the cotton. It’s a vicious circle. However, Matthew doesn’t believe in slavery,” she added.

  “That’s what the Associates say when they’re in Boston and the other big northern cities, but they tell a different story when they are in the South,” Daughtie said. She glanced up from her stitching. The other women were once again staring at her. “At least that’s what I’m told,” she added.

  “And who told you this?” Mintie inquired as she outlined a yellow flower with tiny, evenly spaced stitches.

  “It’s on the handbills advertising the meeting.”

  “I read the broadsides and saw no such thing,” Mintie countered.

  Daughtie shook her head. “That information isn’t on the broadsides posted about town, but there are printed circulars being handed out. They give additional information concerning the antislavery movement that’s beginning to take root. The paper lists groups that have taken a stand and those that seem to be straddling the fence. That’s what they say about the Boston Associates—that they’re straddling the fence.”

  “I wonder if Matthew has seen those circulars,” Lilly murmured.

  Ruth picked up a pair of scissors and clipped her thread. “I doubt it. The circulars are reserved for those people truly aligned with the antislavery cause. That wouldn’t include the mill management.”

  “What else does this circular say?” Lilly asked.

  “Mostly it lists those people who are pro slavery and others, like the Associates, who speak from both sides of their mouths. The handbill contains a little more information about Prudence Crandall, the woman who will be speaking at the meeting. Other than that, the particulars are very similar.”

  “Oh, and you’ll never guess the interesting similarities between Daughtie and Prudence Crandall,” Ruth exclaimed.

  “They’re both antislavery,” Lilly replied with a grin.

  “Well, yes, but in addition to that,” Ruth said with a giggle.

  Mintie tapped her forehead for a moment. “Is Prudence Crandall one of those Shakers, too?”

  “No, but she’s a Quaker.”

  “Practically the same thing,” Mintie said.

  “It isn’t,” Daughtie protested.

  “No, but they’re both from Canterbury,” Ruth interjected delightedly.

  Mintie pursed her lips. “You see, I’m right. They’re both Shakers.”

  “No, Miss Mintie. Prudence Crandall is a Quaker, and she lives in Canterbury, Connecticut, whereas Daughtie was a Shaker and lived in Canterbury, New Hampshire. Isn’t that astonishing?” Ruth asked.

  “Well, it’s interesting,” Mintie agreed. “It would be more astonishing if they were both Shakers,” she insisted. “What does this Prudence Crandall have to say that’s so important to the Negroes and the antislavery movement?”

  “She is the headmistress at a girls’ boarding school,” Daughtie replied.

  “Well, I would certainly think they could find someone other than the headmistress of a boarding school to speak about the slavery issue.”

  Daughtie smiled. “It’s a boarding school for Negro girls.”

  “What? I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Lilly replied. “And this school is in Connecticut? What do the townspeople say about this?”

  “That’s what she’ll be talking about at the meeting,” Daughtie replied. “I can hardly wait to hear what she has to say.”

 
“It does sound interesting. Perhaps Matthew will agree to attend once he hears this information,” Lilly replied.

  “Did I hear my name mentioned?” Matthew Cheever inquired as he entered the hallway.

  “Only briefly, dear. I’ll tell you about it later,” she replied. “Oh, good evening, Liam,” Lilly greeted.

  “Evening,” Liam replied pleasantly.

  “Nice to see all of you ladies,” Matthew said to the group of women and then turned back toward his wife. “We’ll be in my office should you need me, Lilly.”

  “Isn’t that an Irishman with Matthew?” Mintie inquired.

  “Why, yes, Liam Donohue. He’s the stonemason who is doing all this marvelous handiwork about town. Liam did our fireplaces,” Lilly replied.

  “He’s obviously talented, I’ll give him that,” Mintie replied. “But it seems odd Matthew would bring him here—to your home.”

  Daughtie leaned forward and looked directly at Miss Mintie. “Why is that, Miss Beecher? Because Mr. Donohue is Irish?”

  Mintie leaned forward. “Well, they are given to the—” she raised her hand up and down to her mouth for a moment before adding—“drink.”

  “Surely you don’t believe that just because some Irish are given to imbibing that all Irish behave the same way.”

  Mintie arched her eyebrows and leveled a look of irritation in Daughtie’s direction, but before she could speak, Lilly put down her needle and stood. “Would you help me prepare tea, Daughtie?” she asked.

  “Of course,” Daughtie replied. Lilly had never requested assistance at any of their previous gatherings, and Daughtie silently chastised herself for prodding Mintie. Obviously Lilly was requesting her assistance in the kitchen in order to prevent any further unpleasant conversation among the ladies.