Daughter of the Loom (Bells of Lowell Book #1)
Read Daughter of the Loom (Bells of Lowell Book #1) Online
Authors: Tracie Peterson,Judith Miller
© 2003 by Tracie Peterson and Judith Miller
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan.
www.bakerpublishinggroup.com
Ebook edition created 2012
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
ISBN 978-1-4412-0319-9
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
Cover design by Dan Thornberg
To my three J’s—
Jim, Justin, and Jenna—
with love and thanks for
being my support team.
—Judy
Contents
Chapter 1
Lowell, Massachusetts
Monday, September 1, 1828
“I will not fail,” Lilly Armbruster whispered into the early morning dawn. Setting one foot in front of the other, slowly, methodically, she continued onward until reaching the bridge over the Hamilton Canal, the bridge that would take her into the Appleton textile mill.
How different life might have been if only Lowell could have remained unchanged. How different her life might have been if only Matthew had remained unchanged, as well. Lilly tried to dispel the memory of the only man she’d ever loved. He was her enemy now—as clearly as the others who had marred her beautiful East Chelmsford with their monstrosities of brick and iron. Even worse, they had renamed it
Lowell!
She shuddered at the thought.
“Progressive industry,” Matthew had called it, pleading with her to understand. “It will be to the betterment of everyone concerned,” he’d promised. But it hadn’t been to her betterment—nor to her father’s.
The sun was beginning its ascent into the gray eastern sky as Lilly crossed into the mill yard by the only open gate, the one that would permit her entry into the fiefdom of the Corporation, a fiefdom that had been carefully planned and cultivated by a group of Bostonians, now referred to by the locals as the Boston Associates or the lords of the loom. Powerful men—men with money, connections, and an unrelenting passion for the creation of the mill town they had named after their visionary, Francis Cabot Lowell. These same men had given special attention to every detail, completing their architectural wonders with moats, fortified walls, drawbridges, and serfs—many, many serfs.
Step by step, Lilly moved farther into the mill yard, her attention now drawn toward the dull, rumbling noise seeping through the thick brick walls of the taller buildings that formed the outer perimeter of the fortress. She had never noticed the sound before, but she had never been this close to the mills before, either. The reverberating din seemed to be pounding out a message of doom.
Despite a chill in the morning air, a rivulet of perspiration trickled down the small of her back. Swallowing hard to gain control of the bile that now rose in her throat, Lilly paused momentarily to deposit her bags before entering the building. There was no sense in dragging them along with her, especially since she was already exhausted from carrying them all this way.
She took a deep breath and smoothed down the pleats of her bodice. Her gown wasn’t very fashionable or stylish, but she couldn’t imagine that would matter to the men inside. Squaring her shoulders, Lilly knew the moment of truth had arrived. She had to go through with her plan. She had to see this through, no matter how distasteful.
A middle-aged man was perched at a desk near the doorway; probably a clerk or bookkeeper, she decided. He looked up from his papers, gave her an agitated glance, and nodded toward a single chair near his desk. With her fingernails biting into the flesh of her palms, she seated herself and waited while the clerk continued writing in his ledger.
What would Father think if he could see me in this place?
She pictured him cupping large worn hands to his mouth, calling out from the gates of heaven and warning her against such folly, shouting that she didn’t belong among these evil men who had lied to him, breaking his heart with their wicked schemes.
Lilly watched as the clerk laid down his pen and scratched his balding head before giving her his attention. “Applying for a position, I presume?”
Lilly forced herself to look him in the eyes—brown, wide-set, beady-looking eyes that sent a dark message. “Yes.” It was all she could manage. Her heart raced in a maddening staccato. It seemed to beat out the words
You fool! You fool! You fool!
In a slow, lingering manner, the man let his gaze travel the full length of her body. “How old are you, girl?”
Lilly knew her slender figure and petite frame often caused people to believe her years younger than her actual age. “I’m twenty,” she said, straightening her shoulders. She wished silently that she’d pinned her hair up instead of leaving it in a single braid down her back. Then, too, her bonnet was at least five years old and much too childish for a young woman.
“Twenty, eh?” The man looked as if he didn’t believe her.
“Yes, I’m twenty.” Lilly stood her ground, offering nothing more.
The man gave a
harrumph
ing sound, then shook his head. “We have no openings. Did one of the boardinghouse keepers send you?” he asked, glancing about the room while giving her a smirk that revealed uneven yellowing teeth.
“I’m applying for a position as a weaver or perhaps a drawing-in girl. My name is Lilly Armbruster, and I think if you’ll check with Mr. Boott or Mr. Appleton, there may be a position available for me.” Her confidence swelled. She would not let this man deter her.
His lips curled into a mocking sneer, his beady eyes now narrow slits in a too-thin face. “Well, since Mr. Boott and Mr. Appleton aren’t in the immediate vicinity, why don’t you tell
me
why you think one of them would be willing to create a position especially for you, Miss Armbruster?”
She struggled to maintain her decorum, wanting to reveal neither her fear of this leering man nor her abhorrence for seeking employment in one of the mills. “Mr. Boott attended my father’s funeral last week. While at the cemetery, he told me there would always be work at the mills for our family.” She paused, giving him what she hoped was a look of complete innocence. “Do you think he was insincere, merely making consoling remarks to a bereaved family?” she asked, intoning concern.
The clerk shifted in his chair and shoved a bony finger under the soiled collar of his dingy white shirt. Exhaling deeply, he shoved his chair away from the desk and excused himself. Lilly watched as he scurried off and whispered in the ear of an older man across the room. Wagging his head first in one direction and then the other, he occasionally stole a glance at her from under hooded eyelids, his appraisal making Lilly feel somewhat less than human. Finally, the older man turned back to his work, obviously bringing the conversation to an end.
The clerk returned to the desk and settled into his chair. “Mr. Nettles tells me there will soon be an opening in the spinning room and you can begin a week from now. Come with the others at the first bell. Report to me, and I’ll take you to your assignment. I’m also to tell you that there’s an opening at Adelaide Beecher’s boardinghouse, number 5 Jackson Street. Mr. Nettles has sent one of the doffers to advise Miss Beecher of your arrival. She’ll be expecting you.”
His smug look had vanished. “And
your
name, sir?” Lilly inquired, putting her innocent act aside.
“Arnold. Thaddeus Arnold. I’ll have your contract ready for signature when you arrive next Monday.”
“Thank you, Mr. Arnold.” She lingered for a moment, watching as he took up his pen and went back to his ledgers. “Good day, Mr. Arnold, and again, my thanks for your kind attention.” When his head snapped up to meet her eyes, she knew she had failed to keep the bite of sarcasm from her reply.
“It’s not wise to make enemies of those in authority, Miss Armbruster.” His thin lips barely moved as he hissed the words across the desk at her.
A tingling sensation coursed through her body, and she could feel his glowering stare follow her every move as she rose from the chair and exited the building. Though her instincts told her to run and never come back, she held herself in check, straightened her back, and raised her head high until she was out of his sight.
Gathering her luggage, Lilly moved away from the mill and the disgusting man. Once she’d rounded the corner of the building, she stopped and leaned against the cool brick wall. Would she never learn to control her tongue? There was no changing things now, but perhaps it would be wise to try and make amends with Thaddeus Arnold next Monday. For now, she’d best gather her wits and make Miss Beecher’s acquaintance. The boardinghouse was just down the street, and a friendly face and a cup of tea would be welcome.
A row of three-story brick boardinghouses flanked by smaller white frame houses at each end lined both sides of Jackson Street. A few children were playing outside one of the houses at the end of the square, and Lilly paused momentarily to watch their carefree antics. Had she ever been so young and lighthearted? It seemed impossible to recall such a time.
Trudging down the street, she paused momentarily in front of number 5 before ascending the two steps and firmly knocking on the front door. The door opened, and a plump woman with a winning smile stood before her. “Welcome, welcome, welcome, my dear. Do come in and let’s get you settled.” Wasting no time, the older woman took Lilly’s satchel and started toward the parlor. “Don’t stand there gathering flies, dearie. Bring the rest of your belongings inside, and let’s get acquainted. I’m Adelaide Beecher.”
Grabbing her bandbox and a small trunk, Lilly entered and shoved the door with her backside. She nodded in satisfaction at the clicking sound as the door latched. “Mr. Arnold sent me. I’m Lilly Armbruster. Where to?” she asked as the plump woman moved aside, permitting an unobstructed view of two long dining tables surrounded by what looked like as many as thirty chairs.
“This way, dearie. We’ve several flights of stairs to climb, so you may want to make two trips,” she warned.
“No need. I’m accustomed to hard work, Mrs. Beecher,” Lilly stated firmly, knowing her small frame might suggest otherwise.
“Suit yourself. And it’s Miss Beecher. I’ve never been married. The girls call me Miss Addie—you do the same. Unless my sister’s around, of course,” she giggled. “Then they call me Miss Adelaide. My sister’s name is Miss Mintie Beecher. She’s a bit of a stickler for formalities and barely suffers the use of our given names. She’s the keeper at number 7 across the street. She houses some of the men, so her quarters are off limits for my girls.”