Mia looked around and spied Mervin Huxford. He appeared to be searching the crowds—probably for Josephine. “I see someone. Wait here and I’ll let him know what to tell Garrett.”
Mia hurried to explain the situation to Mr. Huxford, who readily agreed to take the message to Garrett. He asked if Mia had seen Josephine, and Mia was happy to be able to say she had not. Poor Josephine, she thought as the man waddled off to seek out Garrett. With that she quickly dismissed herself and returned to Mercy, who was now ready to leave. Lenore was fussy and tired of the day.
The carriage ride home was pleasant. The summer sun seemed less intense now that evening was upon them. Mercy sat with the baby and Agnes, while Bliss had chosen to sit on Mia’s side of the carriage.
“Mia, you seem troubled. Is there anything I might help with?”
She looked up rather surprised. She had thought she was doing a good job of concealing her feelings. “I’m sorry if I’ve given you reason to worry.”
“It’s not that. You just seem unhappy.”
Mia explained having to resign her position at Godey’s and of her concern for the plight of the women she’d met. “I feel confused more than anything,” she admitted. “I’m not sure what God expects of me. I worry about what I can do to aid the cause of those poor women, but at the same time, I realize I cannot do them any good at all if I put myself in harm’s way.”
“That is true enough. I’m sure you also miss your parents.”
Mia nodded. “I do. Especially my father, even if he has pestered me of late to settle down and marry.”
“Is that such a bad idea? You are a beautiful young woman. You should find love and happiness.”
“I had rather hoped it would find me,” Mia teased.
“And is there someone you care for? Someone who has captured your heart?”
Mia thought for a moment. She wondered if she might tell Mercy of her feelings for Garrett. What would his stepmother say if she knew the truth? Would it only cause her to worry about the living arrangements they’d all agreed to?
“There is someone.”
Mercy laughed. “There always is.”
Mia waved her off. “He doesn’t know I’m alive.”
“I seriously doubt that. I’ve seen the reaction of men when you enter a room.”
Mia stared at her oddly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I didn’t presume you did. It’s generally the women who aren’t looking to impress men who impress them the most. Men notice your confidence and contentment. But tell me more about this man—the one who’s captured your heart.”
Mia laughed rather nervously. “I don’t know that he’s captured my heart. He has attracted my attention, and I do find him a wonderful companion. Still, I don’t understand some of my feelings. One minute I feel confident that he might well be the man for me, and the next I’m certain it could never work. When I see him with other women, I’m both jealous and relieved. It makes no sense. I find it completely confusing.”
It was Mercy’s turn to laugh. “It sounds like love to me. I remember when I first fell in love with George. He was sweet and gentle—so attentive. Perhaps too much so, for he made me most uncomfortable at times. As you said, there were moments when I found myself almost suggesting he take interest in someone else. I was terrified.”
“Of what?” Mia asked, desperate to know the answer.
“I think mostly of myself.” Mercy shook her head. “I suppose that makes absolutely no sense, but you see, this was my first love. I had never truly planned to marry. It seemed that love had passed me by so many times that I decided in my heart of hearts that such things were not to be. Then George came into my life with his broken heart. It seemed so sad that he should suffer so deeply at his wife’s passing. I kept him company at first just to ease that sorrow. I didn’t want him to have to be alone.”
“Garrett has often spoken of how you gave his father a will to go on. He thinks quite highly of you.”
“Garrett is a dear. I worried that he would resent my place in his father’s life, but he knew I had no desire to replace his mother or see her memory driven from the house. He knew my heart was to care for his father—to love him. Garrett once told me that he knew my love was most sincere for he could easily see that his father took far more than he gave. However, Garrett couldn’t know that I felt just the opposite. George has always made me feel completely loved and cared for, and frankly, for a woman who had figured herself beyond such things, I cannot tell you how much I value his love.” Tears came to her eyes, but she quickly dabbed them away.
Mia knew she wouldn’t want to upset the girls, so she thought to change the subject. “You were so kind to let me stay with you. I felt so hopelessly trapped. I don’t believe my father would ever force me into an unwanted marriage, but I do feel certain he would have had me court that man through our summer in England. I would not have borne it well.”
“I cannot abide arranged marriages, although I have known some to work out quite well,” Mercy admitted. “I believe a man and woman should have the opportunity to discover for themselves whether marriage is of interest. As with your situation, Mia, if there is someone whom you believe worthy of your love, then perhaps you should make yourself known.”
“Just tell him how I feel?”
“Why not?
“Rejection, for one,” she said with a nervous laugh. “No one wants to have love thrown back in their face. I would hate to appear completely naïve—foolish.” She also feared losing the friendship she enjoyed with Garrett. Should he not feel the same way, Mia knew it would forever damage their relationship.
“Well, there are ways to test his feelings for you. You could do that without fear of making a fool of yourself.”
“I have thought of that. I thought to test my own feelings as well. If they’re real, then I’ll know it. If they are a passing fancy, then that too should be evident.” She sighed. “I only hope the truth reveals itself quickly. I fear I shan’t bear this turmoil for long.”
CHAPTER 16
“Urgent we speak,” Mia read from a letter that had been delivered by Ruth that morning. “Please come to my office by one tomorrow.” She checked the date at the top of the letter: July 28. The missive had come quite late the evening before, and only after opening it did Mia realize it was from Sarah Hale.
“I’ve no desire to put you in a delicate position,” the letter continued, “but find myself in need of help that perhaps only you can lend.”
Mia tucked the letter away. Of course she would go to Mrs. Hale. She couldn’t just ignore the letter—after all, there was no way of telling what the problem truly was without talking to the woman. Surely no one would fault her for that. She hadn’t resigned from their friendship.
Still the challenge would be how to get away without raising suspicions. If anyone saw her going into the 323 Chestnut address, they would undoubtedly mention it to her parents or, in their absence, the Wilsons. It would give her unneeded attention—and may even cause Garrett to watch her more closely than he already did.
Mia knew her last encounter in the dock district had been a very close call. Had Mrs. Smith not run those men off, Mia might have suffered a great deal. Still, God had watched over her with tender care.
“I needn’t fear,” she said aloud. She remembered Hebrews thirteen verse six: So that we may boldly say, The Lord is my helper, and I will not fear what man shall do unto me.
The words comforted her. Surely the Lord would bless her, despite the fact that she was doing something that wouldn’t meet with her father or mother’s approval.
But it’s not like they forbade me to do this, she argued to herself as she secured her coat. Father didn’t ask me to quit helping those women; he asked me not to remain employed by the magazine.
Mia pulled on her gloves, realizing she wasn’t being honest. Her father would not approve of her placing her life in danger. But Mia pushed aside her guilt. Those women need s
omeone to care about their plight. I cannot turn away out of fear. Does that not make it a noble cause worthy of my concern?
It was a pity the summons could not have come last week, when Garrett was in Boston. Garrett had returned two days earlier with something troubling him that he refused to speak about. No doubt the growing sadness of the household as George weakened and spent more and more time in bed had not helped his mood. Mia thought their close friendship might allow Garrett to unburden his heart, but when she had attempted to force the issue the night before, Garrett had actually walked out on her. She sighed. That matter would have to wait.
Mia slipped downstairs and checked the various rooms for some sign of the family. Seeing no one, however, she opened the heavy oak front door, relieved she could leave the house unnoticed.
She walked casually to her own home, hoping she might look to be doing nothing more than checking on the household staff. Once inside the house, however, she gave nominal greetings to Ruth and Mrs. McGuire before hurrying to the carriage house.
She quickly motioned to Jason. “Where’s Mr. Ferguson?”
“He’s gone to get the landau repaired.”
“Good. Bring me the buggy. I need to go to town.”
“Shall I drive you?” he asked, seeming to already know the answer.
“No. I won’t be going far.” She smiled reassuringly. “I wrote to Mother and Father about your plans to marry Ruth. I know they will write back with a very positive response. I know they think highly of you both.”
Jason seemed to forget the inappropriateness of Mia’s request for the buggy. “I’m glad to hear it, Miss Mia. I would hate to lose my position.”
“You certainly won’t lose it over something as wonderful as love,” she teased. “Now please hurry. I want to be back well before tea.” If she wasn’t there to take tea with Mercy, no doubt questions would be asked.
He did as she instructed, and before long Mia was on her way. Twenty minutes later, Mia sat across from the lady editor and listened with a heavy heart to the grave situation.
“There’s to be a rally at three to discuss poor wages and the unacceptable conditions that women face in the local factories,” Sarah Hale said. “I need you to be there—perhaps dressed as one of the laborers.”
“But why me?”
“I do apologize, but the other person I had in mind for the task has fallen ill. Besides, you have a way with people. You’ll be able to get them to talk to you, and I want information. I want these women to speak their minds and know they won’t be condemned for doing so. Then I want you to put it all together for me. I’ll happily pay you, but I cannot entrust this to anyone else. If I weren’t on the platform speaking, I’d try it myself.”
“Very well. I have some old clothes at the church. I can change there and then head over to the rally.”
“Try to get there as soon as possible. People will already be starting to gather. Some have called for a walkout from their jobs. Tempers will no doubt flare.”
“I understand.” Mia got to her feet. “I’ll do what I can, but I cannot accept pay. I no longer work here and cannot risk having someone think I do.”
Mia left the office in a hurry. She maneuvered the buggy around and headed to the church, her mind overrun with a combination of guilt and frustration. She honestly didn’t want any other cause to interfere with the one she’d already taken on. The plight of the seamen’s wives was more than enough. If she took on another problem her focus would be divided and neither one would benefit. Yet if she refused Mrs. Hale . . . Well, there simply was no refusing Mrs. Hale.
Dressed in a plain brown work skirt and a well-worn calico blouse, Mia did her best to appear common. The church was within walking distance of the rally site, so Mia left her buggy and horse and made her way on foot. There was already quite a crowd gathered by the time she arrived. Blending in amongst the workers was easy. No one questioned her appearance there—one woman, in fact, handed Mia a leaflet explaining the conditions women were facing in some of the local mills and factories.
“If you would all just calm down, we can proceed,” a heavyset man announced. He was dressed in a green suit and a straw planters hat and seemed to hold some authority, as the crowd immediately quieted.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we hope to make our issues known to those in positions of authority, but we also hope to educate you in these matters most dear to your heart. We have included a number of speakers today to aid in this cause.”
He rambled about the credentials and positions of those who would share their wisdom, but Mia paid little attention. She turned instead to two women at her right. “Will they talk about wages?” she asked, hoping to entice conversation from one or the other.
“They’d better,” the woman closest to Mia declared. “I’m missing my hard-earned pay and might not even have a job to go back to. There’s supposed to be some promises of new hours too.”
“I wouldn’t hold my breath,” the other woman said. “The city is far more concerned about freeing slaves than freeing women.”
Mia thought that a most poignant comment and committed it to memory. She started to move, but the woman nearest her took hold of her arm. “Where do you work, deary?”
“At a house on Walnut. But I heard about good money to be made at the mills. Do you suppose I could do better there?”
The woman shook her head. “Don’t be stupid. If you have a house job, you’re much better off than the rest of us. You have better conditions, I’m sure of it.”
“Well,” Mia replied, thinking of Ruth, “I do get one day a week off, besides Sunday.”
“See there. That’s what I mean. And you have good food and a nice room, I’m betting.”
Mia nodded. Putting herself in Ruth’s place, she knew that the girl had little to complain about. She had a nice room she shared on the third floor, she had good meals each day, and her pay was quite liberal.
“Don’t come to the mills, deary. You’ll only get consumption and die. There’s few of us who aren’t suffering some form of it. Those places are death houses, but we got no choice. Ain’t like we have someone willin’ to take care of us.”
Mia touched the woman’s hand. “I think you’re probably right. Thank you for advising me.” With that she slipped deeper into the crowd, pressing through the already tight lines of men and women.
A new speaker had come to the platform. Mia thought he looked familiar but couldn’t place him. No doubt he was one of the factory owners who mingled in the same circles her parents frequented.
The man began by speaking of the American factory and the efficiency of its worker. He spoke of other countries and their trials and frustrations in enticing quality men and women to fill their positions. He sounded very complimentary of the employees, and cheers erupted more than once as the sentiment of the crowd concurred.
“Who is that?” she asked the older woman who now stood to her left.
“Some fancy breeches who thinks we oughta kiss his hand for lettin’ us slave for him.” She cackled at her reply as if it were some great joke. “Ain’t foolin’ me.”
Mia moved away, hoping someone else might offer her a name. She asked a man who seemed to hang on the speaker’s every word.
“He owns one of the ironworks.” He gave the man’s name and Mia nodded. She had heard it several times in her father’s discussions. His family was quite wealthy.
Another speaker replaced the man and spoke of how workers should not put unwarranted demands on manufacturing. “Prices will rise to uncomfortable levels,” he promised, “and if that happens factories will begin to close their doors or cut back on their staffing. You will only snip off your own noses if you persist.”
The crowd booed and hissed. They hurled ugly comments along with rotten produce. Mia hadn’t expected this. She tried to maneuver to the edge of the crowd, talking to people all the while.
“They plan to threaten us with the loss of our jobs,” one woman told her. “I lost my s
on in that factory two years ago, and they’ve never compensated me, even though it was their faulty equipment what killed him.”
“She’s tellin’ the truth,” another woman joined in. “He was just a boy of twelve. That oughta mean something to someone.”
“It should,” Mia agreed.
“They told me they’d pay me money and take care of the funeral.”
Her friend interrupted. “But they never did. Oh, they paid for the box they buried him in and the doctor, but nothing more.”
The woman’s eyes welled with tears. “It weren’t about the money. It weren’t ever about the money.”
Mia felt a lump form in her throat at the sight of the woman’s tears. She wished she could somehow console this mother, but what could she say? “It wasn’t right for them to treat you so,” she whispered. In that moment she realized the woman didn’t care so much about the money as she did the accountability. The factory owner should have taken responsibility and compensated the woman for her loss. In doing so, the owner would have acknowledged his part, and for reasons beyond Mia’s understanding, she knew this would have helped the woman.
Yet another well-dressed man was speaking to the crowd amidst their heckling and hissing. He seemed rather pompous in his attitude and carried with him an air of superiority that Mia knew would not be tolerated for long.
“You come here to complain, leaving your jobs and responsibilities to show your disdain for something that you asked to be a part of. You would force us to consider better working conditions for women and children in particular, yet we have already yielded on the issue of even hiring women and children. For that you should be grateful.”
Mia was dumbfounded by his words. He made it sound as though the women and children worked because it was something they longed to do—rather than because it kept them from death.
“Even now you are costing your companies great loss. When workers at one of the textile mills recently decided to strike, they were responsible for the company being unable to fulfill an order. It was a large order that benefited the company greatly, but it had to be canceled and fulfilled elsewhere. That company may even now be on the verge of closing its doors for good.” Some of the people cheered at this. The man looked aghast and shouted in anger. “You may well cheer it, but you won’t earn a wage for this day, nor will those people ever earn a wage again. Protest if you must, but know that it comes with a price.”
A Lady of High Regard Page 15