The older woman smiled and motioned her back toward the rear of the store. “I have them all ready for you,” she said while reaching beneath the counter and pulling out a bundle wrapped in brown paper and tied with cord. “Here you are. Be certain your measurements are exact. We wouldn’t want to order incorrectly,” she cautioned.
Daughtie nodded. “I’ll make sure the dimensions are correct. Thank you for your assistance, Mrs. Whidden.”
“You’re welcome. I hope your customer is pleased with the choices.”
Daughtie scurried from the store with the package tucked under her arm. She’d been awaiting the arrival of the fabrics and was anxious to see Liam’s reaction to the prints. She hadn’t had an opportunity to visit with him since he’d seen her with Dr. Ketter outside the library. By the time she reached Liam’s house, her fingers were cold and stiff inside her knitted mittens. She knocked, her knuckles aching as they struck the hard wood of the front door. A pair of the Shakers’ coonskin mittens would be a welcome delight, she decided when a rush of cold air swept across the front porch.
Liam pulled open the door, and a gentle draft of heat rose up to warm her face. She opened her mouth to greet him, but instead her teeth chattered incessantly. Try as she would, even with her mouth clamped tightly shut, the clicking sound continued. Her jaw was jiggling like a freshly opened jar of grape jelly.
Liam smiled and quickly moved aside. “Come in before ya freeze to death.”
“Th-th-th-thank you,” Daughtie finally chattered.
“Let me take yar cloak,” he said, assisting her with the garment. “Go in by the fire and warm yarself.”
Daughtie didn’t offer to wait for him. She scurried into the parlor and yanked a wooden chair in front of the fireplace. Plopping down, she leaned forward, stretching toward the pleasant warmth of the fire.
“This is yar package?” Liam inquired, carrying the paper-wrapped parcel in his large callused hands.
Daughtie remained in her extended position while nodding her head. “Yes. Open it.”
Liam sat in a nearby chair, carefully untied the cord, and pulled back the paper. “Are ya goin’ to make a bedcover from all these pieces of cloth?” he inquired.
Daughtie giggled. “No. These are pieces of different fabrics we can choose from.” It was obvious he was confused by her remark. “For your draperies and furniture,” she explained.
He smiled and nodded. “Oh, I see! From the mills. Ya’ve brought me samples o’ cloth from the mills.”
“No—I ordered these from a book at Whidden’s Mercantile. Most of them are from England. Once we make our decision, I’ll order the fabric.”
Liam appeared dumbstruck.
“I know it’s going to be difficult to choose. There’s such a lovely variety, and then attempting to envision the fabric on the furniture or hanging at the windows is an overwhelming task. I’d be happy to share my first choices if you like,” she offered, a winsome smile turning up the corners of her pink lips.
“No.” Liam placed the pile of fabric on the settee.
“‘No’ you don’t want my opinion, or ‘no’ you can’t come to a decision right now?” Daughtie questioned.
“No, I’ll not be wantin’ any of these fabrics.”
“What? Why not? Just look at this claret damask. It would be beautiful for your bedroom windows. And please notice that I didn’t bring you any pink.” She graced him with a bright smile while holding the piece of plum-colored fabric in her outstretched hand.
Liam shook his head. “I’m thinkin’ it best to use fabric produced at the mills here in Lowell. Buyin’ cloth made in this city is the proper thing to do. Besides, I’m not for spendin’ any money in England; goes against my beliefs.”
Daughtie leaned back in her chair. “Well, I wish you would have mentioned that fact before I put Mrs. Whidden to all the trouble of ordering these samples. I don’t know how I’ll ever explain.”
Liam rested his ankle across his opposing knee and produced a hearty chuckle. “Just tell her the truth. Ya’re workin’ for a hardheaded Irishman who won’t give in to buyin’ from the English.”
Daughtie was silent for a moment, contemplating Liam’s edict. “You’re absolutely right,” she finally agreed. “Residents of the community should support the industrial efforts right here in Lowell. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that.”
“Ya were merely attemptin’ to give me more choices. Don’t be hard on yarself.”
“Instead of rushing off to Whidden’s to select fabric, I should have prayed about my new assignment. Perhaps then I would have had a similar thought about the fabric.”
Liam grinned at her, his eyes sparkling in the firelight. “And do you go prayin’ about everythin’, Miss Daughtie Winfield?”
“Are you laughing at my beliefs?”
Liam held up his hand as though to ward off an attack. “I would never be laughin’ at your beliefs. I think prayin’ is laudable. Much good has been wrought through prayer.”
“Do you speak from personal experience?”
“I’m afraid not. ’Tis one of my mother’s famous quotes. Though I’m not opposed to prayer,” he hastened to add.
“I can’t explain very well, but my life goes more smoothly when I pray about things.”
He scooted down into his chair in a relaxed manner and gave her his full attention. “And since you weren’t prayin’ about the decoratin’ of me house, what have you been prayin’ about lately?”
She felt comfortable with his easy manner and returned his smile. “My position at the mill. The Corporation has posted broadsides informing us that our wages are going to be cut. They’re proposing a twenty-five percent decrease in our wages. The very day the announcement was made, the girls began talk of a turnout. Girls from all of the mills are urging a strike.”
“And you, Daughtie? What do you believe is best?” Liam asked, his gaze unwavering.
“I believe we should continue working. I know a loss of wages is difficult to accept, especially for the girls who are helping support their families, but I fear that if we go against the Corporation, the Associates may vote to close the mills entirely. In my opinion, closing the mills would cause irreparable harm to the whole community. Besides, I don’t believe a turnout is the Christian thing to do.”
“And what do the girls who favor the strike argue?”
“They say that if we agree to a pay cut, there’s nothing to stop the owners from continuing down this path of decreasing our income. Ruth called a meeting last night, and most of the girls favor the turnout for that particular reason. Of course, they believe the Corporation is acting in an unchristian manner and therefore they feel no responsibility to respond in a fair and prudent manner.”
Liam nodded his head but said nothing.
“You disagree with me?”
“I didn’t say that. I don’t believe I have enough information to agree or disagree about a strike, but I do admire yar willingness to base yar decisions on what the Bible has to say. ’Course, people tend to argue about what the Bible says, too. My mother was always at loggerheads about the Scriptures.”
“Your parents are still in Ireland?”
“Aye. They promised to come to America once I had a steady job; then my mother postponed, sayin’ I should be buildin’ a house first. Now she says it needs to be properly furnished. Once it’s furnished, she’ll be findin’ another excuse to remain at home. Yet she’ll be pleased because she can be tellin’ all the women in the village that her Liam has a good job, a large house, and fine furniture,” he said with a laugh.
“And are your parents Christians?”
With his eyebrows arched, Liam gazed heavenward for a moment. “I’m not certain that’s a word I’d use to describe them. My father doesn’t speak of his beliefs or faith. He goes to church with my mother from time to time, mostly to stop her incessant nagging, I think. My mother’s beliefs are a puzzlement to me. As far as I can tell, she goes shiftin’ back and fort
h between the church and witchcraft . . . or maybe it’s idolatry. I quit tryin’ to figure her out.”
Daughtie smiled in understanding. “And you, Liam? What do you believe?”
“To be honest, I’m not certain. O’ course I went to catechism and attended church every week when I was growin’ up. My mother wouldn’t have had it any other way, but like me da, I quit going. Seems as though people in this country have some different ideas about religion and God—not the Irish over here in the Acre, but the rest of ya.”
“Maybe you never noticed the differences in Ireland because people in your village didn’t talk about their faith,” Daughtie suggested. “Who have you been talking to since you arrived in Lowell?”
“About what? My belief in God?”
She cupped her chin in one hand with an elbow perched upon her knee. “Yes.”
“Mostly just to Matthew Cheever, although John Farnsworth and I have had a conversation or two. I first talked to Matthew back when I was working on the masonry at St. Patrick’s Church. That was shortly after I’d come to Lowell. We talked a little about the stonework I was doin’ in the church, and then Matthew said he’d be likin’ to get together again and continue our discussion. I laughed at the thought of it—Matthew Cheever associatin’ with a lowly Irishman. I’m tellin’ ya, I was surprised when he did just that. We’ve spent some fine times talkin’ about God. I’m not sayin’ he’s convinced me just yet, but I’d say I’m a lot closer to believin’ than I was when I stepped foot in this country. Matthew’s a good man and he has strong beliefs—like you and your friends.”
“Not all of my friends share my beliefs. In fact, one of the reasons there are so many churches is because people disagree about interpretation of the Scriptures and then rush off to start a church of their own. I disagreed with some of the Shaker beliefs, and that’s one of the reasons I left the community,” she explained.
His eyes grew wide at her reply. “ ’Course, ya didn’t go startin’ your own church . . . or did ya?” he asked with a grin.
“No. But I suppose I get as opinionated as the next person. Sometimes I wonder just what God thinks of all of us running around down here on earth acting the fool over petty matters.”
“Thing is, it’s a petty matter only if it doesn’t go against what ya believe, right?”
“I suppose you have a valid point, and I do believe some things are blatantly unscriptural. In that event, and if you know the beliefs are not going to change, I think it’s better to leave than cause problems within the group. The Bible says we’re not to cause disruption within the body of believers. I knew the Shakers would not change, and that is part of the reason I left the Society. I truly prayed for guidance. Once I felt my prayers were answered, I didn’t have time to look back,” she said, giving him a wistful smile. “Clearly, my decision was for a mixture of reasons. My friend Bella was determined to leave, and from the time she came to the Shaker village in Canterbury, we were the best of friends. I didn’t think I could bear the pain of losing her friendship. I had grown to love many of the Sisters; I still miss some of them. On the other hand, there were two or three Sisters I could barely abide. I spent much time in prayer about how to love those particular Sisters. I’m somewhat ashamed to make that admission,” she said, giving him a sheepish grin.
He laughed at her remark. “And now ya have no regrets, even though yar friend has married and left you alone?”
“Bella will be back from England soon. Besides, I’m not alone. I have other friends,” she defended.
“And I hope ya’ll be countin’ me as one of them.”
There was an intensity in Liam’s words that caused her face to warm at his remark. “Yes, that would be nice.” Suddenly the fact that they were alone seemed very noticeable. Daughtie cleared her throat. “Now, about the fabrics? I suppose I’d best go back and have a talk with Mrs. Whidden.” “My talk of friendship has embarrassed ya. I apologize.
I’d never overstep me bounds. You know that, don’t ya?”
Impulsively, Daughtie reached across the chasm between them and touched Liam’s hand. “I’m honored that you consider me a friend, and you need not worry about overstepping boundaries. Surely you know I don’t choose friends based upon where they were born or the color of their skin. That is one principle of the Shakers to which I gladly conform,” she said, finally gaining the courage to look into his eyes. Liam’s gaze, however, was fixed upon her hand resting atop his own. Daughtie’s eyes followed his gaze, and she immediately found herself overwhelmed with the impropriety of her own behavior. She snatched her hand away quickly, as if she’d been jabbed with a hot poker. Scooting back in her chair, she primly wove her fingers into a prayerful pose.
Liam laughed aloud. “Ya jumped like ya were being attacked by a band of leprechauns. There’s no need to go concernin’ yarself—I didn’t mistake your warmth for anything more than the kindness of a friend. And since I do count ya as a friend, and because I know how ya feel about the slavery issue, there’s a matter of confidence I was hoping we could be discussin’.”
Daughtie nodded in agreement, pleased to discuss anything other than her recent conduct.
“I’ve given me name as a contact for runaway slaves,” he said.
Daughtie stared at him in stunned silence.
“Did ya hear me? I said—”
“I heard you. I’m just, just—amazed. Of all the things you could have possibly said, I never expected to hear those words.”
“Why? Do ya think I have no sympathy for a people torn from their homeland and forced into slavery?”
“No, that’s not what I think, not at all,” Daughtie immediately replied. “You’re a compassionate man. It’s just that we’ve talked little of the slavery issue since Prudence Crandall’s visit. Your announcement came as a total surprise. When did you arrive at this decision?”
“I went back and talked with several of the men who accompanied Miss Crandall to the meeting. They told me there’s a need for safe houses for runaways trying to get to Canada and assured me that once the slaves ’ave made their way this far north, the owners have generally given up on tryin’ to get them back. I don’t think there’s much danger. Besides, I have this big house and the barn out back. Not many folks have as much space to offer, and it’s only me I’d be puttin’ in any danger.”
Daughtie began wringing her hands, a habit for which she’d been soundly rebuked as a child in the Shaker village. “I admire your willingness to help, but I fear the assurances you’ve been given may be overstated. We had a Sister join the Society. She was a runaway who had escaped from a cruel owner, and by the time she reached Canterbury, the Elders doubted whether anyone would continue searching for her.”
“What happened?”
Daughtie’s eyes glazed. The long-forgotten memory returned anew. “It was a few weeks after Sister Bessie arrived. We were in Sunday meeting. As usual, a group of spectators had entered the church to observe our worship. Everything progressed normally—we had begun to dance—when a man pointed toward Sister Bessie and began yelling out he’d found his runaway slave. He had two other men with him—big burly men. With total disregard, all three of them bullied their way through the sanctuary and dragged poor Sister Bessie out of the room. I can still hear her screaming for help.”
“And no one tried to stop the men?”
“The Brothers and the other spectators tried. But two of the men pointed their weapons and threatened to shoot the first person who made any further move toward them. They said if anyone followed them, they’d return and burn down our buildings. I suppose it does sound quite cowardly that we all stood staring after her, doing nothing. I thought so at the time. I wept and told Sister Mercy there wasn’t one soul among us that deserved a heavenly reward. She hugged me close until I quit crying and then explained that either Sister Bessie or someone else in the church would have been killed had the Shaker men continued their pursuit. I suppose she was correct, but I lay awake many a night t
hinking about Sister Bessie, wondering if she’d been beaten and what had become of her.” Daughtie raised her head and met his concerned gaze. “So you see, there are slave owners who will pursue their runaways even farther north than Lowell. I doubt what I’ve told you will change your decision, but you should have accurate information. You could be placing yourself in serious danger.”
“So ya think I’ve made a bad choice?”
“No, I think you’ve made a courageous decision. I applaud your willingness to help, but I want you to understand that there could be danger involved. I’m honored you would take me into your confidence.”
Liam gave her a broad smile. “I don’t know if anythin’ might ever arise so that I’d need help, but if I did . . .”
“Just send word, and I’ll do anything I can,” she said. “Anything.”
“I knew I could be countin’ on you,” he said, slapping an open palm on his knee. “But from the way the men talked, I’m not expectin’ I’ll ever be needed. Seems as though they try to find people willin’ to help in every town they visit.”
“That makes sense. It’s wise to have a solution before a problem settles on your doorstep. Perhaps you should do the same.”
His forehead creased in concern. “What do ya think I should do?”
“If runaways arrived tonight, would you be prepared to care for them and help them move on? Think about what items are necessary to feed and clothe them. You may need to offer some medical care. Where would you hide them? Is the area safe for men, women, children, and babies? You never know who may arrive or how many. Would you use the house for some and the barn for others? If so, you’ll need provisions in both places and good hiding places in the event unexpected visitors arrive.”
Liam scratched his head and laughed aloud. “Appears I’ll be needin’ your help with more than just decoratin’ this house.”
CHAPTER 16
Dr. Ketter stood poised in the doorway to his office as Daughtie and Ruth returned home from work late Saturday afternoon. Daughtie cast a sidelong glance in Ruth’s direction. Her friend appeared pleased to see the doctor, but there was something more—a look that passed between them—almost as if Ruth expected Dr. Ketter to be awaiting their arrival.
These Tangled Threads Page 15