Daughter of the Loom (Bells of Lowell Book #1) (12 page)

“You have my promise that I will be here for dinner a week from Sunday,” he coaxed.

Julia stopped, turned toward him, and placed a finger against her pursed lips. “And that you’ll be in attendance at Sunday services?”

“I’ll be sitting alongside you and Father in the fourth pew,” he answered.

“Now, don’t take that peevish tone, or I’ll be forced to require a greater sacrifice.”

His mother held the trump card. They both knew it, and time was growing short. Accordingly, he gave her his most winsome smile. “I shall be pleased to attend church with you next week. Now, who is your surprise guest?”

“If you had more time, I would oblige you to guess,” she coyly replied. “But since time is of the greatest import, I shall tell you. It is Lilly Armbruster.”

Without thought, Matthew lowered himself onto the sewing chair behind him. “Lilly?” His voice was a hollow whisper. He stared up at his mother, feeling the blood drain from his face.

“Yes. I thought you would be pleased,” she ventured. “Are you feeling ill, Matthew? You’ve lost your color.”

“Where? How? Why did you do this?”

“I love Lilly. Just because the two of you are no longer—shall we say, betrothed—doesn’t mean I don’t want to spend time with her. Her parents are both dead. She has no family, unless you consider that scoundrel Lewis—which I don’t. I wanted to reach out to her in some way but wasn’t sure how. Then, as I was strolling down Merrimack Street this morning, I saw her in front of the millinery shop. I offered my condolences and explained that we had been out of town when her father passed away. I inquired about her welfare and asked if she would come to supper. She was as close to a daughter as—”

“But she
isn’t
your daughter, Mother, and I am your son. You knew it would create an uncomfortable situation for me, but you went ahead and invited her. I can’t believe you would do such a thing—or that she would accept.”

Julia’s attempt to appear composed fell short. She was wringing her hands, and tiny beads of perspiration had formed across her upper lip. “Don’t think harshly of Lilly. She asked if you would be in attendance. I told her you were out of town on business. And you will be,” she quickly added. “Although, I had hoped—”

Matthew rose from the chair. “Hoped what—that we’d renew our relationship? That we’d become engaged again? She’s in mourning, Mother. Her father just passed on. How appropriate would it be for me to suddenly appear on her doorstep with ring in hand?”

“Well, granted, there are proprieties to be held to. However, if you feel the same way about her . . .”

“I don’t want to discuss this further. It appears my trip to Boston will make an honest woman out of you, Mother. However, you will do nothing but cause pain for Lilly and me if you continue to interfere. Our relationship is over. And please remember it was Lilly who terminated our liaison. I didn’t drive her off.”

“If you hadn’t taken up with Kirk Boott and that group of Bostonians, she’d still be at your side.”

“You and Father didn’t object to my association with them when it fetched you a better price for your land than that of the other East Chelmsford residents,” he retaliated.

Julia shook her head in denial, her cheeks growing flushed. “That was
your
doing, Matthew. You convinced your father to sell the acreage.”

“Your life has never been better than here in Lowell.”

“There is no doubt my life is easier, but don’t try to disguise the truth with that argument. You wanted to impress those men with the fact that you were an East Chelmsford resident who could give them an advantage dealing with the locals as they attempted to purchase the land. You started with your own family in order to impress them. Now, I’m not saying what you did was in any way improper. And I would venture to say that most of the original landowners are doing well, even though they feel misrepresentations were made to them. Unfortunately, Lilly Armbruster is
not
one of those people who has benefited. And it breaks my heart.”

“The fault lies with her brother, not the Boston Associates. The Armbrusters received more than most.”

Julia nodded her head. “Perhaps. But the coins that line Lewis Armbruster’s pockets do nothing to help his sister. This discussion will do nothing to change Lilly’s circumstances.

“You best be going, Matthew, for I’m sure Mr. Boott is anxiously awaiting your arrival.”

He wished now that he had merely sent his regrets. The conversation with his mother had completely ruined the excitement of traveling to Boston and meeting with Bishop Fenwick.

“Give my regards to Father,” he said as he opened the front door.

“You may do that yourself next Sunday. I haven’t forgotten your promise. I’ll expect to see you promptly at ten o’clock. And don’t think I haven’t noticed your absence in church the past two weeks, young man.”

Matthew could only nod in agreement as he bounded down the front steps. His mother had succeeded in ruining his journey into Boston, yet there she stood on the wide front porch, waving her lace handkerchief after him as though she were bestowing some unspecified blessing upon him.

He rushed down the street, turned the corner, and hastened toward the Boott residence. A sigh of relief escaped his lips when he saw the carriage had not yet departed. As Matthew drew closer, he observed the legendary tyrant-in-residence pacing back and forth along the pillared entryway to his mansion, a look of annoyance etched upon his face. Quickening his step, he rushed onward, his pounding heart threatening to explode within his chest. Sights fixed on Boott, Matthew watched as his mentor turned toward the street and headed for the awaiting carriage. Matthew raised his arm, waving it back and forth above his head. He didn’t have breath enough to call out a greeting.

“You are seventeen minutes late,” Boott stated in a measured voice. “I loathe tardiness, Matthew. You should remember that in the future.”

Matthew gasped for air. “Yes, sir. I apologize. I stopped to say hello to my mother—”

Boott held up his hand. “Please—don’t give me an excuse. As far as I’m concerned, there is no excuse for tardiness. If you’re finally prepared, let’s be on our way.”

A deafening silence permeated the carriage. Matthew determined he would await Mr. Boott’s opening comment. He certainly wasn’t going to cause himself further embarrassment—at least not if he could help it. The pastoral countryside prepared for autumn, a hint of rustic color beginning to tinge the green landscape, and Matthew settled his gaze out the carriage window. Passing the farms and orchards, his thoughts returned to the conversation with his mother. Somewhere deep inside him, he longed to be sitting at the supper table this evening, filling his senses with Lilly and her charming laughter, touching her chestnut curls, and gazing into her golden-flecked brown eyes.

The warmth of the sun beating upon the carriage coupled with the beauty of the countryside served as reminders of times spent with Lilly. He missed their long walks and the simplicity of plucking an apple from a tree in the orchard or reading poetry by the river. But most of all, he missed sharing his dreams with Lilly. Why did she have to be so unyielding? They could have shared a wonderful life together, if only she would have opened her eyes to reality. No matter that he had presented valid, intelligent arguments for selling the farmland. She could not be convinced that East Chelmsford’s future lay in manufacturing, not farming. His thoughts were entirely focused upon Lilly when Boott’s words broke the silence.

“Since our supper at Nathan’s earlier this week, I’ve given further thought to your ideas regarding the Irish. Although there is merit to meeting with the bishop, I don’t want to appear overly zealous about the possible role of the bishop or the Catholic Church in Lowell. When we meet with Bishop Fenwick, I will do the talking. Unless I specifically direct a question to you, you will say nothing other than proper formalities. Is that understood?”

Matthew nodded his head in agreement. “Absolutely.”

“I can only hope you’ll perform this task more efficiently than your late arrival this morning.” The comment was laced with sarcasm. Boott’s sardonic grin followed the biting remark.

“You can depend on me, Mr. Boott,” Matthew reiterated, his palms growing moist.

Boott ignored the assurance. “Let me give you a bit of background about Bishop Fenwick. Before his assignment to Boston, he held an appointment in New York. Fenwick’s not as popular as his predecessor, at least not among the Protestant elite of Boston. However, he does understand his need for assistance from them if the Catholic Church is to continue prospering in his diocese. Right now they’re struggling, with Holy Cross being their only strong parish.”

“Then you think he’ll be pleased with the prospect of offering religious instruction to the Irish in Lowell?”

“I’m told he has only five priests for the entire diocese. I don’t know what will or will not please him, but I do know he’s a shrewd man. The last thing I want to do is appear vulnerable. He would consider us easy prey.”

Matthew stared across the coach and met Boott’s steely gaze. “Prey? How could a man of the cloth victimize the Corporation? And why would Bishop Fenwick even entertain such a notion?”

“Don’t underestimate the clergy, Matthew—especially the papists! There’s nothing they covet more highly than a nice piece of acreage. Always in the name of the church, of course. I’m willing to donate to their cause when a favor is needed, but the amount and kind of donation will be on
my
terms, not those of Bishop Fenwick. Or any other clergyman, for that matter.”

The messages were clear. Keep your mouth shut, keep your ears open, keep your mind sharp, and be careful where you place your trust.

And by all means, be punctual.

Impressed with Boott’s knowledge of Bishop Fenwick and the Catholic Church, Matthew, at the same time, was thankful that Boott hadn’t inquired if he had gathered any information for their meeting with the bishop. Leaning back against the leather-upholstered carriage seat, Matthew wondered if Bishop Fenwick had been carefully preparing for their arrival, scrutinizing Kirk Boott’s heritage and business acumen. If so, this meeting could prove even more interesting than he had anticipated.

Chapter 8

Several carriages lined the drive in front of the Cheever house on Pawtucket Street. Lilly determined it fitting that there should be a street named after Pawtucket Falls and that the Cheever home should be located on that particular street. Of course, the Cheever family truly belonged on their acreage adjacent to Pawtucket Falls, just as she belonged on the Armbruster farmstead.
If only the Boston Associates had begun their fancy manufacturing dreams in some other place—New Hampshire or perhaps Vermont
, she thought as she approached the house.

There was still time to turn and go back to her room on Jackson Street, and she hesitated a moment. Would Matthew be in attendance after all? Surely not—she could trust Julia Cheever’s statement that he was out of town. Besides, the thought of Randolph Cheever appearing at the front door of the boardinghouse to fetch her would give rise to questions from the other girls.

Straightening her back and taking a deep breath, Lilly walked up the front steps and knocked. Her heart began to race when the door opened and a man stood beside Mrs. Cheever, his back toward her as he talked with a group of guests. When he turned, she felt a rush of relief—or was it disappointment? Before her, extending his hand in greeting, stood Matthew’s older brother, Jonas.

“Well, if this isn’t quite the surprise,” Jonas exclaimed. “How good to see you, Lilly. So this is our surprise guest. Mother has been taunting us all afternoon.”

“Us?” It was all Lilly could manage for the moment. All eyes were turned in her direction.

“Father and me,” Jonas replied. “We’ve suffered an afternoon of pure torment, both of us guessing until we’d exhausted everyone we could possibly think of. Won’t Matthew regret that he couldn’t attend this evening?”

“Didn’t I say you would be surprised? I was right, wasn’t I?” Julia questioned. Her eyes were dancing with delight as she pulled at her husband’s arm.

“Absolutely correct,” Mr. Cheever replied.

“How nice to see you again, Lilly,” greeted Sarah, Jonas’s wife.

“Lilly, it’s been too long,” continued Mr. Cheever. “Hopefully your arrival means my wife will now serve supper.” He grasped her hands in greeting and bent down to whisper, “I’m famished.”

Lilly smiled at the remark. She remembered that Mr. Cheever’s favorite greeting when coming home from the fields had been, “I’m famished—when do we eat?”

“You couldn’t possibly be famished, Randolph. You’ve been in the kitchen sampling food all afternoon,” Julia countered. “Come along, Lilly. I’m going to seat you next to Jonas and Sarah.”

The meal consisted of a multitude of courses, beginning with a delectable lobster bisque, and all were served with an expert ease and graciousness that caused Lilly to marvel. Julia Cheever was no longer the farm wife serving dozens of workers during harvest season; she was now the accomplished society hostess entertaining refined guests. How had the transition been exacted in such a short time, she wondered.

“Do tell us what’s going on in your life since moving from the farm, Lilly. Where are you living?” Jonas inquired as a server offered Lilly a heaping platter of mutton.

Prying questions. She had known they would be asked. Why had she placed herself in this prickly situation? “On Jackson Street,” she replied, offering nothing further.

“Jackson? I thought Jackson was nothing but boardinghouses for the mills,” Sarah stated. She grimaced ever so slightly and shuddered.

“So it is,” Jonas remarked. “Are you certain it’s Jackson Street?” he asked, turning back toward Lilly.

Had the question not been so insulting, Lilly would have laughed aloud. She wasn’t sure what bothered her more, the fact that Jonas was actually questioning if she knew her own address or that she was being confronted with the realization that working in the mills diminished her social acceptability. She remained silent. All eyes were turned in her direction, a sense of discomfort suddenly permeating the room.