Tracie Peterson & Judith Miller - [Lights of Lowell 01] (19 page)

‘‘Here’s our carriage now.’’

Bradley hoisted himself up alongside Malcolm and glanced back toward the doorway. ‘‘Your sons aren’t riding with us to the church?’’

‘‘No, I sent them on ahead to escort the women.’’ He directed the servant to move on and turned his attention back to Bradley.

‘‘That bonus you mentioned earlier. Was there an exact figure agreed upon?’’

Bradley hesitated a moment. ‘‘Five percent above the regular price. How does that sound?’’ He watched Malcolm’s reaction closely.

‘‘Considering the fact that they’ve already agreed to pay me more than I can receive in the English markets, the additional five percent seems fair. Of course, I don’t foresee much excess, at least not this year.’’

Bradley didn’t exhibit his jubilation. Wainwright had imparted a subtle message in his reply: it was obvious his future father-in-law would take advantage of the bonus next year. This tidbit helped remove the sting of embarrassment from his future wife’s complaints regarding their marriage. He would train her in short order that there would be repercussions for such inappropriate behavior.

C
HAPTER
•
13

March 1847

J
ASMINE SAT
opposite Bradley at the breakfast table, her gaze fixed upon the pristine white china plate. She traced her finger around the gold edging while contemplating the most effective way to approach her husband. She peeked at him from under hooded eyelids to see if he was looking in her direction. But Bradley’s attention was focused upon serving himself hearty portions of scrambled eggs, sausage, biscuits, and gravy.

She continued to secretly watch him, her emotions muddled with uncertainty. Bradley’s behavior remained perplexing. One day he was kind and generous, while the next he was angry and overbearing. Throughout the past three months she had attempted to be a good wife, hoping her grandmother was correct—that in time she would learn to love Bradley. But thus far she had not developed any feelings of love. Sometimes she intensely disliked him; sometimes she merely tolerated him; yet, on some occasions, when he was kind, she took pleasure in his company. However, she was never certain of his mood, and this morning was no exception.

While spreading one last spoonful of jam onto his biscuit, Bradley glanced in her direction. ‘‘I’m certain you’ll be pleased to know I have business in Boston. I’ll be leaving tomorrow and will be gone for several days. Please have one of the servants see to my baggage.’’

‘‘Of course. Business for the mills or with your shipping business?’’ He dipped his fork into the sausage and gravy before looking up from his plate. ‘‘How unusual. You sound genuinely interested.’’ Sarcasm dripped from his voice like the gravy dribbling off his fork.

‘‘I do take interest in your work, Bradley. I’ve tried my very best to assist in every way possible. In fact, I’m hosting a group of your Associates’ wives this afternoon, just as I have on several previous occasions. I’m doing my best to become acquainted and entertain on your behalf. However, it seems as if you inevitably find fault with all my efforts.’’

‘‘Your tea parties seem to garner me little aid. I asked you to entertain these women and learn about the mills. Thus far they’ve shared nothing but recipes and needlepoint designs. Tell them you have an interest in hearing what goes on in the mills so that you may intelligently converse with your husband about his work.’’

‘‘When I broached the subject of the mills at our previous socials, the ladies quickly turned the conversation to other topics.

Since I want to represent myself as a suitable hostess, I granted them the courtesy of discussing issues they found of interest. However, I will do as you suggest. I’m sure it will prove successful, and when you return this evening, I’ll have much to tell you.’’

He stared across the table as though memorizing her features.

‘‘We’ll see.’’

She twirled a ringlet of hair around her index finger and smiled. ‘‘If I am successful, will it please you very much?’’

‘‘Yes, it will please me.’’

‘‘Enough that I might ask a special favor?’’

He motioned to the servant and pointed to his coffee cup.

‘‘You are always free to ask, my dear.’’

‘‘But will you grant my request?’’

‘‘We’ll wait and see how successful you are—and just what it is you want.’’

She pushed her food around her plate for several moments.

‘‘Would you like me to tell you now?’’

He pushed away from the table, wiped his mouth, and placed the linen napkin on his plate. ‘‘No. It can wait until I return this evening.’’

He moved to where she sat, pecked her on the cheek, and left the house. She sighed. Her hopes now rested on the success of the women who would visit this afternoon, and success she would have. If necessary, she would break the rules of etiquette.

‘‘Mammy,’’ she called out while scurrying up the stairs. ‘‘Please pack Master Bradley’s bags—he’ll be gone for several days.’’ She thought for a moment and added, ‘‘Better pack for a week. He’ll be leaving for Boston in the morning. Take special care that everything is in order. I want to keep him very happy.’’

The old slave’s ample body filled the bedroom doorway.

‘‘Keepin’ dat man happy is harder than tryin’ to shoot a rabbit dat keep poppin’ in and out of its hole.’’

Jasmine giggled at the remark. ‘‘Well, difficult or not, we must try. I’m hoping he will agree to a visit from Mother. I plan to ask him tonight.’’

A broad toothy grin lit up Mammy’s face. ‘‘Miss Madelaine gonna come see us? Oh, dat be very nice. I be sure to pack extra careful so Massa Bradley say he gonna let her come. You think your mama gonna be willin’ to make dat boat ride?’’

‘‘No. I would have to go and get her. I thought Grandmother and I could travel to The Willows, remain a few weeks, and then return with Mother. If Bradley doesn’t want her to stay with us, she can stay with Grandmother for a portion of her visit. I’m hoping Father will come and visit and then accompany her home.’’

Mammy placed her hands on her broad hips, her elbows sticking out like plump chicken wings. ‘‘Um, um. Don’ know if Massa Bradley gonna agree to all dat.’’

‘‘I’m hoping that he’ll be in an extraordinarily good mood this evening. The ladies are coming for tea, and if I do as he’s told me, I’m certain things will go according to plan.’’

‘‘Ain’ nothing gone accordin’ to no plan since you been in dis house,’’ Mammy muttered.

Jasmine ignored the comment. ‘‘I’m going downstairs to make certain things are on schedule in the kitchen. I want everything to be perfect this afternoon.’’

The cook and her helper were hard at work; Sarah, the maid, was ensuring the house was in proper order; and Mammy was busy packing Bradley’s bag. Jasmine took her Bible into the small sitting room and spent the remainder of her morning reading. Grandmother always took such comfort from her quiet time with God that Jasmine had tried hard to emulate the practice. She had to admit there was a certain amount of comfort, although some of what she read confused her.

After lunch, Jasmine carefully dressed for the gathering, all the while contemplating the proper way to maneuver the afternoon of tea and conversation.

‘‘You gots to sit still iffen I’m gonna finish your hair,’’ Mammy said as she struggled to twist a handful of golden hair into a stylish coiffure.

‘‘I just want everything to be perfect,’’ Jasmine protested. She wiggled on the chair, trying to reach the pearls her grandmother had given her. ‘‘If things go well this afternoon, we shouldn’t have any trouble convincing Bradley.’’

Mammy
harrumph
ed, obviously unconvinced. She pinned the last of Jasmine’s hair in place, then took up the pearls to secure them around her young mistress’s neck. No sooner were the pearls secured than Jasmine jumped to her feet to survey her image in the mirror.

She loved the powder blue color of the gown and turned quickly to watch the skirt fall into place. ‘‘Do you think this gown smart enough?’’ she asked Mammy.

‘‘I think it be fine.’’

Jasmine nodded. ‘‘It needs to be perfect.’’

One by one, the ladies arrived, all impeccably attired and obviously looking forward to an afternoon away from home. A buzz of conversation filled the room until Lilly Cheever raised her voice just a bit and gained their attention. ‘‘Ladies, I don’t know if you’ve been advised, but Tracy Jackson’s health continues to decline. Matthew has been most concerned about his health. I told Matthew I would be certain to inform you and ask that you pray for Tracy and his wife. This is a very trying time for them, and I know they would be most appreciative. And you all know how Tracy is: he wants to be in the midst of all that’s happening with the Associates, which makes it doubly hard for him to follow the doctor’s orders and remain abed.’’

Nettie Harper nodded in agreement. ‘‘Especially with all the problems in the mills right now. Wilson has been most difficult to live with over the past few months. It seems as if there is one problem after another to deal with.’’

‘‘What kinds of problems?’’ Jasmine asked. All of them looked at her as though she had lost her senses. ‘‘My husband is gone much of the time, what with purchasing cotton and overseeing shipments and deliveries. He doesn’t have opportunity to keep abreast of the inner workings of the mills.’’

‘‘Well, of course, my dear. I tend to forget there’s more to the operation than the mills and canals,’’ Nettie said. ‘‘After all, we can’t operate without cotton, can we?’’

Rose Montrose patted Jasmine’s hand. ‘‘Absolutely. Your husband’s position is extremely important. Because of his hard work, I’m sure our husbands are relieved of many headaches. In fact, Leonard has told me your husband is a very shrewd businessman.’’

‘‘Indeed,’’ Wilma Morgan agreed. ‘‘James mentioned just the other day that your husband had been very successful in contracting with several plantation owners since he became chief buyer. I know from what he’s told me that those additional suppliers have eased many concerns.’’

‘‘Coming from the South, I know little of the mills and would be most interested in learning more. As you know, Bradley and I have been married only a few months. I long to talk with him about matters that are of interest to him.’’

‘‘Well, of course you do,’’ Rose Montrose put in. ‘‘I think that’s an admirable attribute. Currently Leonard expresses dismay over the workers. Since they’ve begun using more Irish women in the mills, he says there appears to be more discontent.’’

‘‘Really? Does your husband believe the problems are because the Yankee and Irish girls dislike working together?’’ Lilly Cheever asked.

‘‘Well, the Irish girls obviously don’t believe the Yankee girls should be paid higher wages for the same work,’’ Rose replied.

‘‘And, of course, there are the ongoing complaints about the speedup and premium methods, but if the companies are to retain a profit margin, they must be innovative.’’

‘‘What is that? A premium and a speedup?’’ Jasmine inquired.

‘‘It’s merely a method of keeping the mills operating at top production in order to make the best profits,’’ Rose said.

‘‘Not quite,’’ Lilly Cheever corrected. ‘‘The speedup method is exactly what it implies. The machines are set to operate at a faster production level, which means the workers are forced to work at a higher rate of speed all day. However, the machinery is dangerous, and speeding up the machines heightens the likelihood of accidents. There are already many accidents in the mills, and I’m certain the additional speed worries all of the girls. The premium method means the girls are paid according to how much they produce rather than the hourly wage that they’ve always been promised.’’

‘‘I forgot you were once a mill girl, Lilly. Your sympathy for the workers certainly seems to outweigh your loyalty to the Associates,’’ Wilma Morgan observed.

‘‘This isn’t a matter of loyalty, Wilma. It is a matter of right and wrong. I believe the Associates made certain promises to the workers, and if they are going to change those promises, they need to go about it in a proper manner rather than merely forcing their new methodology on the workers without any concern for their welfare.

‘‘I know what it’s like to work in those mills. Speeding up the machinery is not safe, and I don’t agree with the premium method. The workers have always been hired for hourly wages, and those have decreased rather than increased. It’s little wonder there’s strife among the workers. And the attitude that wages should be adjusted because of where you were born doesn’t sit well with me. Who has control over her place of birth? Only God, I believe. Does an Irish girl not work as hard as a Yankee girl?’’

‘‘The Yankee girls have been in the mills longer and have more experience,’’ Rose defended.

‘‘Some, but not all. I don’t disagree with paying higher wages to the more experienced girls, but I do disagree with paying different wages to employees with equal experience,’’ Nettie remarked. ‘‘My husband says the girls complain more about having the windows nailed down than about the nationality of the girl standing at the next loom.’’ She looked at Jasmine and said, ‘‘They nail down the windows to keep the rooms humid. That way, the threads don’t break as easily. The girls, of course, would prefer to have the windows open. In fact, they say the steam and lint fibers are making them ill.’’

‘‘You mark my words: unless these issues are addressed, the girls will begin talking of another strike,’’ Lilly advised. ‘‘And I don’t think our husbands want to see that occur.’’

‘‘Nor do I. There would truly be no living with my husband if a strike became imminent,’’ Nettie Harper put in.

Wilma Morgan turned her attention back to Jasmine. ‘‘And what do you and yours think of the growing antislavery movement?’’ The women stared in her direction, obviously awaiting a response. The room was silent—like a cold winter night after a fresh snow. ‘‘I attended an antislavery meeting at the Pawtucket church before my marriage to Bradley. Two former slaves spoke at that meeting. I was as shocked at their revelations as anyone else in attendance. But you must remember that not all slave owners are cruel and treacherous. My father is certainly not that kind of man.’’