Daughtie took up her things while Liam went quickly to hitch the horses. She floated to the door as if in a dream. There was something about this man . . . something that touched her deep inside.
They rode in silence, the cold pressing them close together in spite of propriety. Daughtie was actually glad to see that Liam was willing to drive her directly to the boardinghouse rather than drop her off at the end of the street.
Liam reined back the horses and fixed the brake before jumping down to help Daughtie. She was in no hurry to leave his company, but a pelting sleet began to blow down from the skies. Liam reached up and took hold of Daughtie’s waist as if she were a small child. Setting her down gently, he continued to hold her for just a moment. Then, without warning, he kissed her lightly on the cheek.
Daughtie gave a gasp of surprise and touched her gloved hand to her cheek in wonder. Liam hurried back to the wagon and was gone before Daughtie could even speak. She watched him disappear into the night—suddenly not feeling nearly as alone as she had earlier in the evening.
Daughtie shoved her fist into the pillow, attempting to create the perfect cradle for her throbbing head. But the cruel pounding wore on, mimicking the thumping looms in the weaving room. She rolled to her side and tugged at the covers, longing for the deep, restful slumber of her childhood, when thoughts of a turnout hadn’t invaded her sleep. She pulled the covers over her head and attempted to blot out all thoughts of the mill. She tried to focus on Liam and how he had kissed her cheek, but the worry and concern of what events might yet come to pass pushed the memory aside.
It seemed as though she had barely crawled into bed when the pealing of the tower bell startled Daughtie from her restless slumber. Her eyelids drooped heavy with sleep, but she forced herself to remain awake. Edging into a sitting position, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and attempted to stand. Her legs wobbled, protesting the weight she now forced upon them.
“I’m going downstairs,” Ruth announced curtly.
Daughtie glanced over her shoulder. Ruth was perched upon the bed, dressed for the day with her hair properly braided and fashioned into a knot atop her head. “How long have you been awake?”
“Probably an hour or so. I woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep. I’m meeting with some girls before final bell,” she said as she moved toward the door.
“You’re meeting here at the house?”
“No, we’re going to meet on the weaving floor before Mr. Kingman arrives.”
“Oh, Ruth, I don’t think that’s wise. Mr. Kingman is likely at the mill at least a half hour before any of us. With Mary’s dismissal, I think you’re taking a foolish risk.”
Ruth shrugged her shoulders. “I imagine you do, but if you’re not willing to join our ranks, you need not force your opinions upon me.”
“I’m not forcing my opinion upon you, Ruth. I’m expressing my concern.”
“Well, you don’t need to do that, either. I’ll be fine.”
The anger in Ruth’s voice caused a lump to form in Daughtie’s throat. “I’ll be praying for you,” she said while holding back her tears.
There was no reply. Tears flowed down Daughtie’s cheeks as she listened to Ruth’s footsteps clattering down the stairs.
Daughtie hastened off toward the mill, feeling strangely unsettled. Only on those rare occasions when Ruth was ill did Daughtie walk alone. Her discomfort abated when she peeked in the weaving room and saw Ruth standing by her looms. Ruth glanced in Daughtie’s direction but didn’t return her wave. No matter—at least there had been no repercussions to the early morning meeting Ruth had attended.
She sat down at her drawing-in frame and permitted herself a mental review of the fabrics she’d taken for Liam’s assessment. He hadn’t made his final choices by the time they had parted, and now she was hoping he would pick the deep rose damask fabric for the parlor. It would be lovely with the carpet of dark blue, beige, and rose he had chosen. Yet he had said he didn’t want pink. Would he consider the rose hue to be a shade of pink? If he decided upon the lighter blue, she would focus his attention upon the shades of rose in the carpeting.
She couldn’t help but think of Liam and how kind he had been—gently massaging her head until the pain ebbed, tenderly holding her hands as he spoke to her about loneliness. Along with these thoughts, however, came reminders of Mrs. Potter’s negative comments and Ruth’s persistence that Daughtie would ruin her life by associating with the Irishman. Daughtie knew that most people would take the same stand as her dear friend. The Irish were despised; they were associated with brawling and papist views. But Liam’s not like that. He’s neither a brawler nor a papist. The poor man isn’t even sure about God, much less the complications of religious views, she thought to herself.
Then her musings traveled to those silent moments outside the boardinghouse. He kissed me. Her hand went to her cheek again. What did it mean? Was it just the sweet gesture of a friend?
Drawing the threads through the harness, Daughtie worked with expert speed until her thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of Mr. Kingman’s shouts, which could now be heard over the rumbling sound of the looms. Daughtie glanced over her shoulder. Mr. Kingman was moving toward her with Delia Masters following close by his side. Daughtie gazed toward Delia, and a hard knot formed in her stomach. Fear burned bright in Delia’s pale gray eyes as she passed by Daughtie’s frame.
The sounds from the weaving room began to subside as the looms groaned into a halting silence. Daughtie stared in disbelief as operatives began filing down the hallway and out of the building. “What’s happening?” she shouted as Ruth neared.
“Those of us who signed up for the turnout are leaving now. They’re discharging Delia, and we’re leaving in protest.”
“But the turnout isn’t scheduled until the first of March,” Daughtie argued.
Ruth nodded. “Yes, but when they terminated Mary, we all agreed that if it happened again, we would immediately begin the turnout. I’ve got to go. I’m supposed to notify the girls at the Tremont that the turnout’s begun. Are you going to join us?”
Daughtie bit her bottom lip. “No. I’m not going to participate.”
Ruth appeared startled. “But Delia’s our friend and she’s losing her job. I can understand those girls who have families to support remaining at their machines. But surely you’re going to support Delia’s bravery.”
“No, Ruth. You know my position. We’ve discussed this over and over. I wouldn’t expect Delia to compromise her beliefs for me, and I won’t change my own on her account,” Daughtie replied unwaveringly.
Ruth’s searing glare went through her like a sharp knife, and profound sorrow seeped into Daughtie’s heart as she picked up her steel hook and once again began pulling threads through the harness. Two hours later, the dinner bell pealed from the tower, and the machinery droned into quietude as the remaining operatives rushed toward the stairway. Daughtie joined them and hurried down the stairs.
As the throng of workers bustled through the mill yard, a procession of girls marched past the entrance, heading off toward the center of town. Daughtie stood watching until the last few demonstrators disappeared around the corner. She should go and eat dinner, but her curiosity nagged like a puppy nipping at her heels. Glancing over her shoulder, she gazed at the girls who were already making their way toward the boardinghouses and their noonday meals. Her stomach growled, and she gave momentary consideration to following them. “I’d rather know what’s going on in town than eat,” she muttered, lifting her skirts and running down the street.
The sight of Delia standing atop a stack of boxes, her hair blowing free as she waved her calash high into the air, brought Daughtie to an immediate halt. Ruth was standing near her side.
“We must take heed of our rights and prove to the moneyed aristocracy that they cannot trample on the rights of their female employees. I beseech you to sign our resolution vowing to discontinue your labors until terms of reconciliation are
made. There are petitions circulating among you as I speak. Sign now and support your sisters in their crusade,” Delia shouted to the cheering women.
A young operative tugged at Daughtie’s cape and pointed toward Delia. “Isn’t she wonderful? I’m going up to sign the petition right now.”
The girl didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, she rushed off toward one of the petitions Ruth was now waving heavenward like a flag of glory. Sorrow etched Daughtie’s face as she bowed her head against the wind and turned toward home.
CHAPTER 19
Boston
March
Josiah Baines scuttled across the room and threw himself into a chair like an ill-mannered child. “This turnout at the mills has completely interrupted my schedule. I thought the agents and supervisors had this matter under control. If they can’t handle their employees, why are we paying them?”
Nathan inhaled and then removed an intricately carved pipe from between his clenched teeth. “If you find the meetings an undue burden, please don’t feel obligated to attend, Josiah. I’d be happy to act as your proxy,” Nathan said, his exhaled smoke mingling with the words and floating off toward the ceiling.
“Which would also ensure an earlier conclusion to the meetings,” Tracy mumbled.
“I take that statement to mean you gentlemen believe I’m the sole cause of these infernal meetings that last well into the early morning hours. And where is Kirk?”
“Take it however you choose, Josiah. I’m weary of your petulant attitude. We all have busy schedules and other business interests that require our attention. Either give me your proxy and take your leave, or permit me to begin the meeting,” Nathan replied. “As to Kirk’s whereabouts, he is suffering with a bout of illness and has sent Matthew to represent him at this meeting.”
Nathan turned away from Josiah and focused his gaze upon Matthew. “Although we wish Kirk could be in attendance, we all realize that the information you relate to us will be directly from his perspective. I know we will profit much from what you have to tell us, Matthew. Why don’t you begin?”
“Thank you, Nathan, for your kind words. Gentlemen, I appreciate your understanding. Kirk’s profound desire was to be here tonight. In fact, he gave serious consideration to overriding the doctor’s warning against travel—until his wife got wind of his plans.”
The room resonated with telltale laughter.
“As you are aware, the turnout is over, most of the operatives are back to work, and wages have been reduced by ten percent. I wish I could report that the workers are satisfied with what has occurred. Unfortunately, that is impossible. There are still rumblings of anger from time to time, although to our knowledge, there are no plans for future strikes.”
“It’s beyond me how Kirk ever permitted such an occurrence,” Josiah growled.
Matthew leveled a thoughtful look in Josiah’s direction. “Tell me, good sir, without the ability to leave wages intact, how did you expect Mr. Boott to prevent such an incident? We can hardly lock the employees in the building. And even if we could, how would you propose we force them to operate their machines?”
“Perhaps he should develop a better relationship with the workers so that they value his opinion and accept the decisions of the Corporation as being in their best interests,” Josiah retaliated.
“The workers at the Lowell mills are endowed with the same reasoning powers and intelligence God gave you, Mr. Baines. They are not animals we can herd about and prod into submission. We had hoped the workers would not turn out when management agreed to a ten percent reduction rather than the original twenty-five percent. I might add that the agents, supervisors, and Mr. Boott believe that the number of strikers was dramatically decreased due to that very action on your part.”
Josiah rose from his chair and began pacing in front of the fireplace. “Well, of course you’re going to report there was a decrease in strikers due to our change in percentages because, truth is, there’s no way of knowing how many would have walked out if we’d just left it at twenty-five percent.”
Matthew nodded. “That’s true. But we had reports that there were as many as fifteen hundred threatening to strike when the wage reduction was set at the higher figure. Our final count showed that there were only eight hundred who actually left the mills. I think we should give credit to the supervisors that we lost little in production time through the turnout. They managed to have us at full production within a week while maintaining a continuum of dignity and calm inside the mills.”
“Hear! Hear!” Tracy said, raising his glass of port.
“Except for a few of the organizers who were discharged and a handful of others who decided to return to their farms, the employees returned to work and now are adhering to all rules of the Corporation. Quite frankly, it’s as though the incident never took place.”
“Hah! Do you read newspapers, Mr. Cheever? We’re either notorious bandits taking food from the mouths of babes or shrewd businessmen who have perfected the art of coercing these young women to do our bidding.”
“You exaggerate, Josiah. I’ve seen only one report that spoke ill of our tactics,” Nathan argued. “Most reports state the girls are highly paid unskilled workers who are unable to comprehend the economics of business, and were their minds able to digest such information, they would be on their knees thanking God above for the kindness of the Corporation.”
“He’s right, Josiah. You always tend to overstate the negative,” Tracy concluded. “Granted, this was an unfortunate event, and we can hope it never recurs. However, should we face these same problems in the future, I hope we will be blessed with the same fine results we’ve seen this time.”
“Well, what else is there to say, then? You gentlemen are all pleased, and I don’t see that we have any recourse against the employees. After all, we need them,” Josiah replied, once again taking his seat. “So is that it? Are we through for the night?”
Nathan pulled a linen handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow. “As I said earlier, you’re free to leave at any time. As for the rest of us, I’m planning to discuss plans for the railroad and possibly make some final decisions.”
Josiah wriggled back in his chair. “The railroad is going to cost us money that we can ill afford to spend. Since I believe we need to reevaluate this whole railroad idea, I suppose I’ll be remaining for the balance of the meeting.”
Tracy leaned forward, resting his forearms across his thighs, and met Josiah’s gaze. “There’s that negative approach rearing its ugly head again, Josiah.”
Matthew remained standing near Nathan’s desk. “If I could have time for one more issue before you begin your discussion of the railroad?”
“Of course, my boy. I thought you had completed Kirk’s report.”
“Mr. Boott asked that I make you aware of the fact that farmers who live in proximity to Pawtucket Falls have become increasingly distressed due to the ongoing problems caused by the dam.”
“Balderdash! That dam was erected years ago,” Josiah responded. “Why is this even being brought up for discussion?”
“If you’ll let me finish, Mr. Baines, I’ll try to explain,” Matthew replied patiently. “During the past couple of years, we’ve had more rain than usual. To a certain extent, the farms have flooded ever since the dam was erected. However, with the increased rains the past few years, the flooding has caused crop failures that are sending the farmers into ruination. And then there’s the problem with the fish. The consistently high waters make it impossible for them to spawn, and we’re receiving complaints from not only the farmers and citizens who depend upon the fish in those waters for their own dinner tables or to supplement their income but also the citizens living in Lowell. Kirk is concerned that this problem could escalate if we don’t address it and at least attempt to look toward a solution— something we can report to the farmers that will hold them in abeyance or ease their minds.”
Josiah grunted. “Hold them in abeyance? What are they plann
ing to do? They can’t strike. Personally, I don’t see the need to appease them. Besides, we need the dam.”
Henry Thorne had remained quiet throughout the evening but now raised his hand to be recognized. Nathan nodded. “Yes, Henry?”
“We don’t want to be perceived as the villain in all of our dealings. The good people that farmed the Chelmsford soil already believe that they were wronged when the Corporation purchased land for the mills. Now the few farmers who’ve been able to remain believe their livelihood is being jeopardized. Perhaps we won’t suffer financial losses due to this issue, but we do stand to lose the working relationship that’s been cultivated with the farmers over the past years.”
Nathan nodded. “That’s true, Henry, but I don’t know what we’re to do. We can’t release additional water without jeopardizing the operation of the mills.”
“I know we can’t do that. Has Kirk offered any solution? What about the possibility of increasing the size of the millpond? Is that feasible?” Henry asked.
“Mr. Boott gave me no possible solution to offer you,” Matthew said. “I have no idea if it’s possible to enlarge the millpond.”
“What about having the engineers at the Locks and Canals Division study that prospect and report to Kirk?” Tracy inquired.
“Sounds reasonable,” Nathan replied.
“The cost of labor alone to perform such a feat would be prohibitive,” Josiah countered. “Let them present their argument to the courts if they think they have legal standing. Are we going to cave in at every whim?”
“Could we agree merely to investigate the possibility?” Tracy inquired. “At least it will give Kirk something he can tell the farmers. Before we begin worrying about the cost, Josiah, let’s find out if it’s even a possibility to expand.”
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