Irish Linen (12 page)

The village surrounding the Gibbons Mill was much like Somerville, but the buildings and grounds seemed more friendly to Meghan. It was late November, and Meghan felt the bitter cold as she left her residence for the millwork. Small cottages and other workmen’s homes built to share exterior side walls had been constructed along a road paralleling the creek, not far from the mill buildings which housed the machinery. A covered wooden bridge spanned the waterway, allowing the workers easy access to both sides.

Meghan steeled herself against a gust of wind as she headed toward the five-story mill building. She’d procured her employment two days past while Rafferty had waited outside for her in a borrowed carriage. She’d been interviewed by the mill foreman, Mr. Simmons, who was pleasant as he outlined the position and its wages.

There were over one hundred seventy-five people employed at the mill, more than half of them women. Many of the workers lived on the property, boarding at the homes of widows or workers’ families. Meghan’s new home was a room in a house run by Patricia Rhoades. Patty, as Meghan was told to call her, was a widow with three male children, all over the age of thirteen. Two of Patty’s sons worked at the mill in the carding room, while the youngest helped the groom
in the stables. Meghan had met the Rhoades boys, who apparently resembled their late father with their red hair and brown eyes.

Today would be Meghan’s second day in the village and her first day on the job. She hurried to the office to meet the overseer in charge of the weaving room. Familiar with the basic hand loom, which she’d learned from her mother, Meghan was to start by helping the weavers.

Each floor of the mill building housed a different phase of cotton cloth production. From the bottom level where the picked cotton was sorted and prepared to the uppermost floor where the finished cloth was stored and bagged until it could be transported to the dye house.

Meghan was put in the capable hands of Mari Bright, a friendly young woman, whose smile and disposition matched her surname. The looms on the fourth floor were enormous, much larger than any Meghan had ever seen. At first, she was put to work tying knots and keeping the weavers supplied with thread from the third floor. When a worker had trouble with a broken thread on her loom, it was Meghan who rushed in to help, performing the task without being instructed.

Meghan liked the work, but not the overseer, Mr. Phelps. There was something about the man that bothered her. Perhaps it was the way some of the other girls cowered whenever he was within distance. Whatever the reason, Meghan didn’t like him.

Her first personal contact with him came at the end of her second day when he approached her, offering her her own loom. It was a position that many workers in the spinning and dressing rooms coveted, a job with more pay.

That night, Meghan accepted the position and then returned to Patty’s boardinghouse, excited with the
prospect of higher wages. When she told her new friends about Mr. Phelps’s new job offer, they didn’t share her enthusiasm, and Meghan’s excitement waned.

“What’s wrong with taking the position?” she asked them at the dinner table. “I thought it was a good one.”

Betsy, her roommate, exchanged glances with Susan Morgan, another boarder, before replying. “It is a good job, Meg,” she said. “It’s just Mr. Phelps …”

“What about him?” Meghan saw the people at the table glance briefly toward Priscilla, Susan’s roommate. Priscilla’s face appeared more pale than usual, but she otherwise looked composed. Betsy, staring at the girl, seemed unwilling to finish her statement. “I don’t understand,” Meghan said. “Tell me.”

Susan smiled at Meghan. “It is a good position, Meghan, and I’m sure you’ll do well.”

“Just be careful,” Betsy warned.

“Careful? Oh, with the machine,” Meghan said with sudden understanding. “I’ve experience with a loom. I’m sure I’ll manage.”

“I’m sure you will, dear,” Patty said firmly. “You’re a capable young woman. I’m sure you can manage anything.”

Then, suddenly, the tone of conversation changed, as everyone picked up and shared Meghan’s excitement. Meghan retired for bed that night, feeling as if she’d done the right thing in taking the new job.

The next day Meghan began her new position as a weaver. The work was hard, but she didn’t mind, although she had to remain at her station all day. A worker in the spinning or dressing room was allowed to leave her station for an hour or more to escape the fabric dust and humidity for fresh air. Some simply
went outside the building, but many used the opportunity to perform personal tasks at home.

Meghan enjoyed working on her prettily painted machine in the wide, high-ceiling weaving room with its bright white walls. Her loom was near a window, which allowed in the afternoon sunlight. The air on the floor was cleaner, free from the heavy cotton dust generated from spinning or dressing the thread.

That night, after a hearty meal shared with Patty, the woman’s sons, and Patty’s other boarders, Meghan went up to her attic room, changed into her nightgown, and flung herself onto her bed. She stared at the ceiling beam and thought about her day as a weaver with satisfaction. A short while later her roommate, Betsy Long, came in to bed, and the two women talked about the mill, their fellow employees, and Meghan’s impression of her new job. Soon, they fell silent, and Meghan drifted to sleep. The next thing she knew it was five in the morning, and she hurriedly dressed for breakfast before beginning her third day at the mill.

When the bell rang, signaling the end of Saturday and the work week, Meghan stopped her machine and tidied up her work area. The sun had set in the night sky, and the weaving room was lit by a series of oil lamps suspended from the high ceiling, away from the danger of igniting the cotton cloth.

As she reached for her cloak, Meghan heard the other girls in the weaving room chatting happily about their next day off.

After five days of employment, Meghan was tired. Her muscles ached in places that until now she’d been unfamiliar with; her feet were sore and slightly swollen from standing for long stretches at her loom. But she felt good about her position and the wages she’d earned. Although she wouldn’t receive her pay until
later in the month, she felt rich. It was a heady sensation to have money and know that you wouldn’t be left out in the cold to starve. If she became efficient enough to manage not one but two weaving looms, Meghan knew the money would be well worth the hard hours of concentrated work.

“Meghan.”

She turned to find the overseer near her loom, inspecting her day’s production. “Mr. Phelps,” she said, approaching him with a smile. “Thank ye for me new pos—”

Her words died as the man turned from her machine. “Would you come into my office please?”

A feeling of dread settled within her breast as she nodded and followed the overseer into a small office at one end of the weaving floor. Had she done something wrong?

Mr. Phelps closed the door, blocking out the conversation of the weavers as they shut down their machines for the day.

“Is there a problem?” she asked.

He turned from the door and smiled. “On the contrary, young woman, you’ve done an excellent job during your first week here.”

“Thank ye,” she said politely. She didn’t care for the intense way he studied her.

“You like your lodging?” he asked.

“Aye, Patty is a fine woman. I’ve no complaints. Betsy Long and I get along well enough in the same room.”

“Good.” Mr. Phelps looked pleased. “After a week or so, would you consider taking another machine?”

Meghan couldn’t control a rush of pleasure. Who would have thought she’d be grateful for more work? “Aye,” she said, “if you think I can handle it.”

“I know you can handle it, Meghan,” he said with a grin that made her uncomfortable. He approached
her and laid a hand on her shoulder. “I’m glad you enjoy your position here, Meghan,” he purred as he turned her and trailed his fingers down her arm.

She stood in shock that he touched her. “Mr. Phelps—”

“Mathew,” he invited.

She bristled.
“Mr
. Phelps,” she said, “I would appreciate it if you would unhand me.”

Surprise flickered in his gaze, before he regarded her with anger. “You had better not speak to me in that tone, woman.” He didn’t remove his hand; he shifted it to rest on her hip.

“I said let go of me!” she hissed, twisting to break free of his grasp. “You’ve no right to touch me!”

His mouth tightened as he stared at her. “You forget yourself, Meghan McBride. You are my employee. It is by my word and my word alone that you have—
and keep
—your job.”

Meghan shivered as she kept her distance. “You’re threatening to release me?”

He stared at her hard. “Have I said that?” He skirted his desk and sat, leaning back in his chair. “A word of advice, Irishwoman—I don’t know how things are in your country, but here in America it’s always wise to be friendly to your employer.” He smiled slowly as he raked her with an insolent gaze. “Without me, where do you think you’d be?”

Meghan was silent as distress warred with fury. She wanted to hit the smile right off Phelps’s smug face, but he was right. She needed this job. Rafferty was upset when she’d lost her last position. The only other employment, he’d said, was the black powder mill downriver. It was a dangerous job, one she was unfamiliar with. She liked working at Gibbons Mill, and she liked the people.
All but Phelps.
And the overseer hadn’t actually done anything to her, had he …?

“I apologize if I misunderstood,” she said. It was the closest thing to an apology he’d get. She didn’t think she misunderstood him, so in her mind, she wasn’t apologizing.

He rose from his chair with a smile that appeared more genuine. “I understand that you’re new here. If I’ve offended you,” he said, much to her surprise, “then I’m sorry.”

She was thinking about the incident and Phelps’s startling apology as she left his office and started for home. The man had said he was sorry! Had she misread his look and intentions?

He’d stared at her breasts! she realized. Anger lent a new snap to her steps. No, she hadn’t misread his intentions, nor did she believe that his apology was genuine. But position or no position, she wouldn’t stand for such behavior from the man again.

“Hold on, Meghan!” Susan Morgan called as the young Irishwoman left the building and headed toward Patty’s. “Why are you hurrying?”

Meghan opened her mouth to tell her the truth, but then decided not to make an issue of it. After all, there had been no harm done. And she needed the job and the pay. “I’m hungry,” she improvised as she slowed her steps and waited for Susan to catch up.

“Me, too,” the girl said. “I wonder what Patty’s cooking.” She didn’t wait for Meghan’s answer, but asked, “So how do you like your work as a weaver?”

A stiff breeze swirled about the yard, taking Meghan’s breath away, making her answer slow in coming. Meghan held the edges of her hood tight to her chin. “I thought it’d be terrible adjusting, but it wasn’t,” she said loudly to be heard above the wind.

At eighteen years of age, Susan had a face with the ripe fullness of a farm girl, who had benefited from the fresh air, hard work, and good food. She leaned
in close to Meghan. “Catherine Brown was put out when you got a loom,” she said. “But then Catherine is annoyed by everything that doesn’t benefit Catherine.”

“Catherine?” Meghan couldn’t place the face.

Susan shivered as she clutched her coat. “She works in the spinning room. Has her heart set on weaving, but Phelps won’t use her.” She huddled closer to Meghan so that she could lower her voice. “Catherine’s all thumbs when it comes to weaving,” she said conspiratorially. “She barely gets by with spinning. She started as a doffer and hardly managed to do that!”

Meghan smiled at the mental image of Susan’s words. A doffer’s job was to change spools in the spinning room, replacing full ones with empty ones as the thread was spun and collected from the machines.

“I haven’t met Catherine,” Meghan said.

“You’ll get to know all of us in time,” Susan replied. “I work in the dressing room, and you know me!” She laughed as if she’d told a joke. “Of course, you and I, in a sense, live together.”

Meghan nodded and increased her pace when she spied Patty’s house ahead. Susan easily kept in step with her.

“You’ll be going to church service with us tomorrow morning?” Susan asked as they reached Patty’s steps.

Meghan shook her head. “Me fiancé is coming for me this night. I’ll be going to church with him, I suppose. It’s the only day we have to spend together.”

“Oh, you poor dear, how awful for you to be separated from him,” Susan commiserated. “You must miss him terribly.”

Meghan mumbled an appropriate response. Actually, she hadn’t given Rafferty much thought this past week. She’d been too busy working and adjusting to life at the mill. She felt a prickling of guilt as lately
she ’d been thinking of Lucas again. Too much, she knew, for someone betrothed to another man.

Then, her thoughts returned to her experience with Phelps, and she felt a shiver of revulsion. What would she do if he touched her again? Should she mention it to her friends? To Rafferty? No, she thought, not unless it happens again.

A week later, Meghan felt quite comfortable with her new life. Bad weather this last Sunday had kept Rafferty from coming to take her to Somerville, but she didn’t mind. She enjoyed the company at Patty’s much more than Rafferty’s of late. Raff seemed irritable whenever she spent the day with him. She preferred the easy, laughing camaraderie of the women boarders over her fiancé’s long periods of angry silence.

After a month at the job, Meghan was in charge of three looms. The hours were long and there were times when Meghan wished for a free day to lie in and read, but she was grateful for the work, the money, and her new friends. Mr. Phelps had kept his distance, and relieved, Meghan had begun to wonder if she had, in fact, misread the man’s behavior toward her.

Susan had been helping her, during the evenings, to improve her reading and writing skills. The young woman had been fortunate enough to have attended a country school near her parents’ farm with classes taught by the local Methodist minister’s wife.