These Tangled Threads

by Tracie Peterson

  “Good afternoon, ladies,” he greeted. A gust of cold air whisked across the threshold. The doctor rubbed his hands together and shivered. “Seems as though it hasn’t warmed up outside.”

  Daughtie pushed the door closed before removing her cape and gloves. “If you’re chilled, perhaps you should move back into your office. That way you’ll be out of the draft.”

  “If you’ll join me, I’ll do exactly that. It’s at least an hour before supper.”

  Not even taking time to contemplate the request, Daughtie moved toward the stairway. “I’m sorry, but I have several matters I wish to accomplish before supper. If you’ll excuse me—we can talk during the evening meal.”

  She had taken two steps up the staircase when Dr. Ketter’s words stopped her. “I have a patient I wish to discuss, and I don’t think the conversation would lend itself to mealtime, especially with a child present. I’m hoping your knowledge of herbs may be helpful.”

  Turning, she retraced her steps and he led the way to his office. “What is it you wish to talk about?” Daughtie inquired from just inside the doorway.

  “Do sit down,” he encouraged, gesturing toward a chair.

  “No, thank you. How may I help?”

  Dr. Ketter gave her an embarrassed smile. “I hope you’ll forgive me, but I’ve actually gotten you into my office under false pretenses.”

  “Truly? So you don’t need my assistance?”

  “Not with a patient, but I did want the opportunity to speak with you privately.”

  “What is it you want to discuss, Dr. Ketter?”

  “I’ve been told that there is a ball March 21, the Blowing Out Ball. I was hoping you would attend with me.”

  With her eyes wide, Daughtie stared at him. “You wanted to invite me to a dance? Is that your important question?”

  “Yes,” he replied, his face suddenly taking on a red tinge.

  “I think the Blowing Out Ball may be an uncertainty this year given the fact that the girls are threatening a turnout. Who knows? The mills could be closed down five or six weeks from now,” she replied tersely.

  Dr. Ketter’s crimson complexion paled. “Do you truly believe a strike is possible? I set up practice in Lowell because the Corporation said there was security and that I wouldn’t have to rely upon farmers paying me with produce or animals. If the mills close—even one or two of them—it could adversely affect the whole community. Surely the girls will consider the impact their actions could have upon the rest of us. Such behavior would be completely irrational.”

  Dr. Ketter’s outburst annoyed Daughtie. He seemed not concerned about the workers or the city of Lowell; instead, his fretfulness was for himself and the inconvenience a strike might cause in the plans he’d made for a flourishing medical practice. For the first time since she’d heard talk of a turnout, Daughtie considered siding with the girls who favored the strike.

  “I believe a turnout is highly possible, though it will depend upon the supporters rallying enough workers to their cause,” she replied.

  “A bright girl like yourself doesn’t favor the plan, do you?”

  “I haven’t given it my support, as yet. I believe much depends upon how the Corporation presents its final offer regarding the cutback of wages. If they remain determined to lower wages by the full twenty-five percent, there’s no doubt many of the girls will strike in opposition.”

  “But a level-headed woman like yourself could be the voice of restraint. You’re educated and articulate. You could sway many of the undecided.”

  Daughtie gave him a faint smile. “It’s up to each girl to determine the merits and vote her own conscience. They’ve all listened to the positive and negative aspects of a walkout. There have been many meetings over the past two weeks. I’m surprised you aren’t more aware of the goings-on in the town, especially since you express a strong desire to remain in Lowell.”

  “I’ve been so busy—I haven’t had an opportunity to talk with many of the businessmen in town or become involved in community activities.”

  His tone was defensive, and Daughtie knew her words had hit the mark. “Priorities, Doctor,” she said, turning to leave the room. “It would appear that becoming involved in the community could yield some of those benefits you seem to value and currently enjoy. Now if you’ll excuse me, I really must go upstairs.”

  “Wait,” he said, grasping her arm. “If there is a ball, will you do me the honor of attending with me?”

  “I don’t—”

  He held up a hand to stave off her answer. “Perhaps I should do as you suggested earlier. I’ll wait to see if the Associates will be hosting the celebration.”

  Daughtie gave a nod of her head and ran up the stairs. Just as she reached the bedroom, she heard a knock at the front door—likely an ailing patient needing the doctor’s assistance. She’d let him answer.

  Ruth perked to attention when Daughtie entered the room. “Did you and Dr. Ketter have a nice visit?”

  “You knew he was going to ask me, didn’t you?”

  “Ask you what?”

  “To accompany him to the Blowing Out Ball. Don’t try to act innocent. The two of you arranged that entire encounter, didn’t you?”

  “You two are perfect for each other. With all you have in common, you’re an ideal match. He’s a doctor, and you know so much about medicine. I know I was a bit jealous at first, but honestly, you should consider him a fine match. Together, you could do so much good—and be so happy. My mother says that a husband and wife need to have common goals.”

  “Husband and wife? If you think Dr. Ketter would be a perfect husband, why don’t you attend the ball with him?”

  “Because it’s you he’s interested in,” Ruth snapped. “Besides, you need to focus your attention on a decent man.”

  “Does that mean you think I’m paying attention to an indecent man?”

  “Liam Donohue is certainly an inappropriate suitor for anyone except, perhaps, one of his own kind,” Ruth replied.

  A fount of righteous indignation rose up within Daughtie and then spilled over. “How dare you speak ill of Liam Donohue! He’s a fine man with outstanding principles. Dr. Ketter would be hard-pressed to exhibit the kind of moral fiber I’ve seen in Liam Donohue.”

  “Truly? And exactly what display have you seen from Mr. Donohue?”

  After realizing she’d spoken out of turn, Daughtie hesitated, attempting to regroup her thoughts. “He attended the antislavery meeting, and he’s done a good deal to help the struggling Irish in the Acre. He cares deeply for the less fortunate.”

  “And you think Dr. Ketter doesn’t? I haven’t heard you say anything about Mr. Donohue that couldn’t apply equally to Dr. Ketter. Certainly you should be considering the fact that Dr. Ketter has chosen a profession in which he is constantly helping others.”

  “So long as they pay for the service,” Daughtie countered. “His biggest concern right now is whether the mills will strike. And do you know why that concerns him? Not because he fears the workers are being ill treated, not because he fears others will suffer if there’s a strike, not even because he’s concerned for the investment of the Associates. Oh no! Your fine Dr. Ketter is worried because he was promised a flourishing medical practice, and should the workers strike and a mill or two close down, the number of patients would decrease and his income would suffer. His concern is his own livelihood. I don’t think Dr. Ketter is the humanitarian you make him out to be.”

  “You can’t fault a man for being concerned over his own welfare. He has expenses to pay like any of us.” She lowered her voice momentarily. “He might even have debts. I’d think less of him if he weren’t concerned about making a living. The way you continually defend Liam Donohue makes me wonder if there isn’t more going on between you two than meets the eye. If it’s nothing more than friendship, why would you turn down Dr. Ketter’s invitation to the ball? I’m beginning to think you’re less than forthright about Mr. Donohue.”

  T
he smug look on Ruth’s face was more than Daughtie could bear. There was little doubt that Ruth would soon be spreading false rumors. “If going to the ball with Dr. Ketter will serve to convince you I’m telling the truth, then so be it. In reality it proves nothing except that I’ve tired of this debate.”

  Ruth jumped up and clapped her hands together. “So you will go with him?”

  “If there’s a ball, I’ll go with him—but not because I’ve any romantic interest in the good doctor. My agreement is given solely to silence your nagging.”

  “And you’ll tell him you accept his invitation?”

  Obviously the reasoning behind Daughtie’s agreement mattered little to Ruth. “Yes, I’ll tell him. But not this evening.”

  “Well, when?” Ruth whined.

  “Once there’s an actual announcement by the Corporation that the ball is going to be held. And don’t you say a word to him, either. If you do, I’ll take it all back and stay at home.”

  “Oh, all right, but I do wish you’d reconsider. I know it would make him ever so happy to have your acceptance this evening.”

  “Ruth! Not another word about this subject. I’m going to need headache powders if you don’t cease this bothersome behavior.”

  A short time later, Daughtie rounded the doorway and skidded to a halt. “Mr. Arnold! I didn’t realize you were here,” she said, backing away. His beady-eyed stare caused her to give an involuntary shiver.

  A wicked smirk tugged at his lips. “No harm done. In fact, it’s a shame you stopped short of reaching my arms. I rather like the thought of holding you in a warm embrace.”

  “What did you say, Thaddeus?” Mrs. Arnold inquired while carrying a heaping platter of roasted pork into the dining room. “I wasn’t able to hear you out in the kitchen.”

  “Nothing. I was merely admiring Miss Winfield’s charm and grace. She is a lovely young lady, isn’t she?”

  Mrs. Arnold’s gaze shifted between her former husband and Daughtie. “Yes, she’s quite lovely,” she replied before retreating to the kitchen.

  “Why did you say such a thing?” Daughtie hissed.

  “You are lovely, my dear,” he said, drawing nearer and stroking her arm.

  Instinctively, Daughtie pulled away and hurried across the hallway. “Aren’t you coming to supper, Dr. Ketter?”

  Ivan looked up from his papers and gave her a broad smile. “Yes, of course. How kind of you to remind me of the time.”

  Daughtie slipped her hand through the crook of his arm and permitted him to escort her back across the hall to the dining room. Thaddeus Arnold appeared amused by the sight, Mrs. Arnold surprised, and Ruth—Ruth’s face was etched in delight.

  Thaddeus speared a slice of roast pork and looked toward Dr. Ketter. “Are you enjoying the hospitality of my house, Dr. Ketter?”

  Ivan appeared taken aback by the question. “It’s my understanding this house belongs to the Corporation, Mr. Arnold. However, I do find the accommodations to my liking.”

  “I’m certain you find more than the accommodations to your liking,” Thaddeus retorted as he eyed the three women. “Having the pleasure of dining with these lovely women each night is certainly enough to make me envious.” He leisurely wet his lips with the enjoyment of a cat licking the last droplet of cream from its whiskers, leaned back in his chair, and awaited Ivan’s reply.

  “I find the company as pleasurable as the accommodations,” Ivan simply stated.

  Thaddeus gave a wicked laugh. “Don’t become too comfortable in your new surroundings, Dr. Ketter. Women can be a fickle lot—telling lies and causing all manner of problems.”

  Daughtie ceased eating, carefully watching the exchange. It was obvious Thaddeus was toying with Ivan, enjoying the doctor’s obvious discomfort, while Mrs. Arnold fidgeted with Theona in an understandable attempt to draw her husband’s attention away from Dr. Ketter.

  Uncertain whether it was sympathy for Mrs. Arnold and Dr. Ketter or a distinct dislike for Thaddeus Arnold that caused her boldness, Daughtie said, “I was taught at an early age that good digestion is dependent upon pleasant table conversation. I’m certain we can find something more enjoyable to discuss.”

  Thaddeus squeezed his face into a condescending mask of tolerance and pointed his fork in Daughtie’s direction. “If you’d rather change topics, why don’t you tell me about work at the Appleton? I continue to miss the pleasure my duties at the mill afforded me.”

  Neither Mr. Arnold’s smirk nor the evil glint in his eye was lost on Daughtie. How a kind woman such as Naomi Arnold could have ever chosen to marry him was beyond Daughtie’s comprehension. “Work at the mills continues as usual,” Daughtie replied.

  Ruth twisted in her chair and leveled a look of amazement in Daughtie’s direction. “Daughtie! How can you make such a remark? The Corporation is threatening to lower wages by twenty-five percent, the operatives are organizing for a turnout, and you say everything is normal?” Thaddeus arched his neck in Ruth’s direction. “A decrease in wages, you say? Profits must be down, which means sales have decreased and production, of course, has increased. I know someone who projected this is exactly what would happen. They’ve expanded too rapidly for their own good. And you say the operatives are going to strike?”

  Ruth came to attention. “Yes, they—”

  “Merely talk, nothing more,” Daughtie interrupted. “I doubt whether this topic is any better for the digestion than your earlier discussion of women’s foibles, Mr. Arnold.”

  “Quite the contrary, Miss Winfield. I find the discussion excellent for my digestion. Tell me, Miss Wilson, have the girls organized? I find that organization is the key to efficiency in all things.”

  “I absolutely agree. We began organizing the day the broadsides were posted. Since then, we’ve been holding meetings in an attempt to persuade all of the operatives to join those of us who have already committed to the cause.”

  “Good, good,” Thaddeus encouraged, nodding in agreement, “and when will you strike?”

  “We’re awaiting a final decision on the amount of the wage decrease. The Associates want twenty-five percent. However, we’ve been told Mr. Boott and Mr. Cheever, along with other members of management here in Lowell, have requested the amount be reassessed.”

  “No matter the amount, the wages should not be lowered. You must rally the operatives and explain they must stand their ground,” he replied with a thump of his fist on the table.

  “For a man who no longer works at the mills, you appear to be keenly interested in this difficulty,” Dr. Ketter suggested.

  Thaddeus ignored the remark and remained focused upon Ruth. Her eyes had widened at Mr. Arnold’s impassioned declaration, and she glanced toward Daughtie.

  “Don’t look to Miss Winfield for advice. You’re obviously a young woman of vision and leadership. I have no doubt you can convince the other workers they should strike. And the sooner, the better. You must send a clear and concise message to the Associates that the workers will not tolerate their greedy actions. Those men in their fancy mansions will continue to live in the lap of luxury, no matter the consequence to the lowly mill workers. They care little whether there’s a crust of bread in your mouth.”

  “I think your statement is somewhat melodramatic, Mr. Arnold,” Daughtie said in a lighthearted tone, hoping to ease the tension permeating the room. “Our discussion is not going to resolve the problems in the mill, and I’m certain your former wife and daughter would find another topic much more edifying.”

  “Don’t attempt to tell me what will or will not interest Naomi or Theona, Miss Winfield. They’ll listen to whatever I care to present.”

  Daughtie wanted to continue the argument, but one look at Mr. Arnold’s ashen complexion convinced her to reevaluate her position. He might hold his temper in check during dinner, yet Daughtie knew afterward it would be Mrs. Arnold and Theona who would suffer the brunt of his anger. She should have known better than to provoke him, but in a momentary lapse of m
emory, she’d forgotten his detestable behavior. Well, she’d not leave Mrs. Arnold and Theona alone with Thaddeus this evening, of that she was certain.

  “Please accept my apology, Mr. Arnold. I didn’t mean any offense,” she replied in a conciliatory tone.

  His chest swelled slightly, obviously pleased by her act of contrition. “As I was saying, Miss Wilson, you should make due haste in gaining support. Is there no word from management as to when you can expect a decision?”

  Ruth cast a sidelong glance at Daughtie before replying. “We’re told the first of March, but some say it may be later.”

  “Have the supervisors met with you and set forth exact reasons for this callous behavior?”

  “It’s as you stated earlier. Profits have diminished.”

  “And you poor girls are going to be the Corporation’s scapegoats, suffering the disastrous effects of their inept ability to manage their assets. Disgraceful!”

  Daughtie stared in disbelief. When had Thaddeus ever cared about the girls in the mills? For that matter, when had he ever cared about anyone other than himself? And why was he still so interested in the mills? He quizzed them every time he came to visit, obviously anxious for any morsel he might acquire. His behavior made no sense. The moment Ruth began to spoon-feed him the information he so desperately desired, his wrath subsided. Still, she wouldn’t leave Mrs. Arnold alone in his presence. The man was a chameleon, altering his behavior at every twist and turn.

  Pushing away from the table, Thaddeus crooked his finger and beckoned Ruth. “Let’s finish our discussion in the parlor—or, should I say, Dr. Ketter’s waiting room? You don’t mind if we use your waiting room, do you, Doctor? Come, come, my dear,” he urged. “We have important matters to discuss.”

  CHAPTER 17