A Fragile Design (12 page)
He reached over and patted Bella’s hand. ‘‘Don’t spend another minute concerning yourself with this Jesse fellow. I always have time for a beautiful woman,’’ he said while running his fingers through the hair that had fallen across his forehead.
Bella felt herself become rigid at his words. He was going to use this to his advantage if she didn’t soon turn things around. ‘‘Miss Beecher, did you know that the Shakers believe in the complete equality of men and women?’’ she inquired.
‘‘You don’t say! Now, that’s a belief I could probably take hold of,’’ she said. ‘‘Tell me more,’’ she encouraged, giving Bella her rapt attention.
She quickly determined that she wouldn’t explain the basis for the equality. Instead, Bella decided she would explain the benefits of equality. After all, Miss Mintie might look askance once she realized such equality was based upon the Shaker’s belief that Mother Ann represented the second embodiment of Christ’s spirit. The first, of course, had been Jesus, but this second embodiment in a woman now made both sexes equal—at least that’s what Mother Ann proclaimed. It was only one of several proclamations Bella couldn’t bring herself to accept. But just because she didn’t accept Mother Ann’s deity didn’t mean Bella didn’t believe in the equality of men and women.
‘‘The men and women share equally in all things. There is nothing granted to a man over a woman—or a woman over a man. The Shakers have both male and female Elders; they share work equally. They are educated equally. If a woman is more skilled in caring for the ill or keeping ledgers, she is permitted to do so. Women may discuss matters of social concern on equal footing with men and are encouraged to make their views known. The men don’t go off into a drawing room and discuss matters of import while the women are relegated to gossip and stitchery in the parlor.’’
‘‘Now, that makes good common sense. Women are every bit as bright as men. Personally, I believe they fear we are more intelligent, and that is why they send us off to another room. Now the Judge, my deceased father,’’ she explained, ‘‘tended to be more like your Shakers—at least in that respect. Well, only where I was concerned. He never included Adelaide in discussions regarding the business of the day because, quite frankly, she wasn’t interested. But I was. The Judge and I would talk well into the evening hours. He coveted my thoughts and opinions regarding matters of substance. Men like the Judge are few and far between,’’ Mintie soulfully replied. ‘‘My, how I miss that man,’’ she added softly.
‘‘I believe in equality for women,’’ Taylor interjected.
Both women turned to stare at him, Bella giving him a look of disbelief. ‘‘Did you say you believe in equality?’’ she asked.
He puffed his chest. ‘‘Yes, absolutely.’’
‘‘Why, that’s marvelous news, Taylor. Then I assume you’ll be permitting the young ladies of Lowell access to the Mechanics Association library and lectures. Isn’t that wonderful, Miss Beecher?’’
Taylor turned ashen while Bella smiled and reveled in the moment.
Liam Donohue planted his work-worn hands on his hips and gave a satisfied nod. He’d been working in the home of James Paul Green, known as J. P. to his close associates. And although Liam wasn’t considered such an associate, Mr. Green had specifically sought him out to carve and lay the intricate stonework he desired around each of the five fireplaces in his fancy Boston home. Unfortunately, the work had been both tedious and worrisome. Liam had split, shaped, and sculpted the granite, fieldstone, limestone, flagstone, shale, and slate into a combination of sizes, shapes, and textures, all with an eye toward enhancing the imported Italian tiles that had been individually carved as the focal point of each fireplace. Liam had been handsomely paid for the work, but most of the funds had already been sent to Ireland to care for his aging parents as well as several brothers and sisters who still remained at home.
A satisfied smile graced Mr. Green’s lips as he surveyed the fireplace in the library that doubled as his office. ‘‘You’ve done a fine job, Liam. I don’t believe an Englishman could have performed better stonework.’’
Liam held his tongue, though it was difficult. Personally, he doubted whether Mr. Green could have found anyone to perform better stonework, much less an Englishman.
‘‘If you’re in need of a recommendation, please use my name,’’ he said while extending his hand.
Liam gripped Mr. Green’s soft, fleshy hand in a muscular handshake. ‘‘I’ll be thankin’ ya for yar kind offer. I’ll not be in Boston long, ’owever. I’ve been offered a position in Lowell, and I’ll be leavin’ once I’ve finished cleanin’ up here,’’ he said in a thick Irish brogue.
Rubbing his jawline, J. P. leaned against the walnut mantel in a swaggering fashion. ‘‘So it’s Lowell you’re off to. I have many connections there, also. Nathan Appleton, one of the founders of the Boston Associates, is my partner in the shipping business. We export almost all of the textiles produced in Lowell,’’ he said. ‘‘Surely you’re not going to waste your talents building mills?’’
‘‘No. At least not for the present. Hugh Cummiskey contacted me regardin’ the Catholic church bein’ constructed in Lowell. He’s hired me to complete the decorative stonework at the church. After that job’s completed, I’m not sure what I’ll be doin’. But certain I am the good Lord will provide.’’
Green gave him a derisive laugh. ‘‘After you’ve seen the living conditions of your fellow countrymen in Lowell, I’d wager you’ll be looking to your own talents for provision. I don’t think God’s spending much time providing for the Irish,’’ he callously remarked before continuing. ‘‘Appears you’ll be finished before noon. I’m expected at a meeting in a few minutes. You can let yourself out.’’
Liam nodded, glancing over his shoulder as Green exited the house. He might need Mr. Green’s recommendation one day. Otherwise he would have told Mr. J. P. Green what he thought of arrogant, uncaring men who grew fat and stodgy while others starved.
Leaning down to gather his tools, Liam began placing them in his case and then sat down in front of the fireplace to clean a small trowel. He scraped at the tool, his glance shifting toward the hearth. A bundle of papers was lying in the grate alongside several pieces of wood. Reaching in, he pulled out one of the pages and gave it a cursory glance. It had writing on only one side.
Did J. P. Green not realize that the other side of the paper could be used for writing letters, drawing plans, or compiling lists? He glanced toward the hallway, wishing Mr. Green hadn’t left. If Liam took the paper, it would be put to good use and save him hard-earned coins. Surely Mr. Green wouldn’t consider it stealing. After all, if he left it in the fireplace, the papers would be destroyed.
Folding the pages, Liam packed them into his satchel, left the house, and made his way to the Beacon House, where he would board a stagecoach for Lowell. He’d considered going by boat, using the canals that wound their way into Lowell, but he didn’t want to wait until morning.
He pulled a thick-crusted chunk of bread from a loaf he’d purchased earlier that morning and sat in front of the hostelry.
Within half an hour, the coach came rumbling into town at breakneck speed. The driver yanked back on the reins, which caused the wideeyedhorses to dig their hooves into the dusty roadway and bring the coach to a jarring halt. The carriage continued to sway on its leather straps for several minutes, the driver appearing to take great pleasure in the jostling he’d caused his passengers.
Spitting a stream of tobacco juice, the driver jumped down from atop the carriage. ‘‘All out that’s getting out,’’ he hollered, pulling open the door.
Several frazzled, travel-worn passengers disembarked from the coach as the driver tossed their baggage onto the street. ‘‘You that’s riding with me, get on in there. I ain’t got time to waste. I’m on a schedule,’’ the driver barked.
Liam and two other men boarded the coach, all of them seated along one end of the coach facing two women on the opposing side. He was grateful the center seat remained empty, permitting them a bit more space for their legs.
‘‘Schedule? Not so as anybody would notice,’’ one of the women called back. ‘‘The only time you hurry is to delight yourself in throwing us around inside this torture chamber.’’
The driver chortled and slapped his leg. ‘‘Surely you don’t think I’d do such a thing as that, ma’am,’’ he said, his coarse laughter continuing as he climbed up to his perch.
‘‘That man is a maniac,’’ the woman said to no one in particular as the driver flicked the reins and the coach lumbered out of town.
‘‘He seems to have settled down a bit,’’ one of the men commented as they made their way through the outskirts of Boston.
A wry smile crossed the woman’s lips. ‘‘Just wait. He takes great delight in urging the horses into a full gallop when we’re on a deep-rutted road or crossing a rickety bridge. And don’t bother asking to get out and walk across the bridges—he ignores our pleas,’’ she warned.
Regrettably, the woman’s words proved accurate. By the time the stage rolled into Lowell, Liam had bounced off the side of the coach, as had everyone near him. His body was bruised, and his head ached. He’d lost count of how many times his head had thumped the top of the carriage. At least those huge leghorn hats provided the women’s heads with a bit of protection.
He stepped down from the coach, thankful he had to travel no farther and sorry for those who would remain and go beyond Lowell. The woman was right—the driver was a maniac. He enjoyed every minute of discomfort the passengers had endured. Liam picked up his case of tools, which the driver had tossed to the ground. He’d kept his satchel with him in the coach and now slung it across his shoulder as he glanced in all directions.
‘‘That way,’’ the driver snapped as he pointed northwest.
Liam gave him a look of surprise.
‘‘You’re going to the Acre, ain’t ya?’’
Liam nodded.
‘‘Well, it’s thataway. You’ll know when you’ve arrived,’’ he declared before throwing the remaining luggage onto the ground.
‘‘Thank you,’’ Liam replied and headed off.
Lowell certainly wasn’t as large as Boston, but it was a likeable town, he decided, passing the shops that lined Merrimack Street. It appeared to be a place where a man could settle down and be happy. He walked onward, not sure how he was to know when he’d arrived at the Acre, but he was enjoying the sights while remaining mindful to watch for his destination. He passed the mills, impressed with the brick facades and grandeur of the buildings with their many windows and small flower gardens. Soon the well-kept street ended, and a few rods from the canals, Liam was confronted with a hodgepodge of shanties built of slabs and rough boards that varied in height from about six to nine feet high. Stacked flour barrels or lime casks sat on the roofs, obviously topping out the fireplaces inside the shacks. Chinkedout holes served as windows, while makeshift doors hung open, with pigs and chickens roaming freely from the muddy streets into the shanties. Liam shuddered at the sight. The Acre.
‘‘I’m lookin’ for Hugh Cummiskey,’’ he told a raggedly clothed boy sitting outside one of the hovels.
‘‘Over at the church,’’ the boy replied, running his hand across the dirt smudge on his face and then pointing toward the church.
Liam nodded and thanked the boy before heading off to the church. Mercifully, the church was as Cummiskey had described, an edifice worthy of a skilled stonemason. At least something in this part of town wasn’t an eyesore. Liam approached a group of men preparing to leave for the night. ‘‘Can ya be tellin’ me where I might find Hugh Cummiskey?’’
One of the men stopped directly in front of Liam. ‘‘Who wants to know?’’
‘‘Liam Donohue, stonemason from Boston.’’
The man nodded. ‘‘He’s inside. Go on in.’’
Liam voiced his thanks and entered the building. No doubt it was going to be a beautiful church once completed. Nothing comparable to the great churches of Ireland, but a fine structure nonetheless.
‘‘Are you looking for work?’’ a man asked, walking up behind Liam.
Liam turned. ‘‘I think I’ve found it,’’ he replied. ‘‘I’m Liam Donohue, stonemason from Boston, lookin’ for Hugh Cummiskey,’’ he once again explained.
‘‘Well, you’ve found him,’’ Hugh replied, holding out a beefy hand. ‘‘So you’re Liam Donohue. I pictured you to be a bigger man,’’ he said in a light, almost nonexistent brogue. Apparently the man had worked to rid himself of sounding too Irish.
‘‘Go on with yarself. I’m big enough to get the job done, and besides, I’m not thinkin’ ya’ve got much size on me,’’ Liam retorted with a quick grin.
Hugh laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. ‘‘Well, then, I don’t imagine your stature is of any consequence. What do you think of our church?’’
Liam took another glance about the building. ‘‘It appears to be the only structure o’ consequence in all of this part of town. I’m understandin’ this is called the Acre?’’
Hugh nodded. ‘‘That it is, or the Paddy camp, or New Dublin, or any number of derogatory names the Yanks could think of since we first arrived to build this place. We came to build the mills and canals—all of the heavy manual work. Some refer to us as lords of the spade. No matter—I suppose that’s what we are. The Associates have continued their expansion in Lowell, which has been good for us. Their expansion provides us with jobs. ’Course, more and more of our countrymen have arrived from Ireland looking for work. But now the Yanks are beginning to raise a ruckus. They don’t want any more Irish settling in Lowell.’’
‘‘Aye. The good folks of Boston aren’t overly welcomin’, either, although I expected wee better living conditions here.’’ Hugh shook his head back and forth. ‘‘We’re on the same small acre of land me and my men camped on when we first arrived here. The Yanks won’t let us expand any farther if they can avoid it. Trouble is, we don’t help matters much. There’s still the fightin’ among the clans, which the Yanks use against us. Fact is, the Corporation donated the land for this church in the hope it would bring the clans together. I’m hoping it will help.’’