A Fragile Design (42 page)
She’d chided Taylor in the past for ignoring God, but she now found herself just as guilty. ‘‘I don’t mean to be so fickle or unfaithful,’’ she murmured in prayer. ‘‘I know I’m sorely lacking when it comes to doing things as I should.’’ She glanced to the ceiling. ‘‘But I want to do right in your eyes. I want to yield the hardness of my heart and put aside the past.
‘‘At the village, I felt so angry and bitter for the things they’d done—for the things my father had done. Lord, it’s hard to just let go and put it aside. Sister Mercy said we were to look forward in our walk, not even glancing behind. Now I read in your Word that we are to actually forget what is behind us and press on toward the goal. But, Father . . . I don’t seem to have any goals.’’
Love me. Serve me. Trust me. Let these be your goals
.
The words were stirred from somewhere deep in her heart. Was God truly speaking to her heart? Was this what He’d been trying to tell her all along?
Although he dreaded a confrontation with Thaddeus Arnold, Matthew decided it was best to address the situation without further delay. Arriving at the mill, he sent a message requesting Arnold’s presence in his office.
A short time later a knock sounded at Matthew’s door. ‘‘Come in,’’ he called.
Thaddeus Arnold entered the office, closing the door behind him. ‘‘You wanted to see me?’’ he asked. In spite of the cool temperature, beads of perspiration had formed on Arnold’s forehead and damp half-moons now circled his underarms.
Matthew pointed toward a chair. ‘‘Sit down, Mr. Arnold,’’ he offered and then waited until Thaddeus seated himself. ‘‘I’ve received some distressing information regarding your behavior. From the accounts I’ve heard, it appears that you’ve returned to your past behaviors—behaviors, as you well know, the Corporation will not tolerate.’’
Thaddeus pulled a checkered handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow. ‘‘I suppose I need not attempt to defend myself—I’m certain you’ll never believe me over those who have made these accusations.’’
Matthew leaned forward and rested his arms atop his desk. ‘‘On the contrary. I’m hopeful you can shed light on this matter. If you have a defense, by all means, let me hear it.’’
Thaddeus shook his head back and forth. ‘‘No. I’ll not honor such vicious lies with a defense. But remember, Mr. Cheever, if you terminate my employment, my wife will suffer more from your actions than she has from my hand.’’
Matthew stared across the expanse between them in disbelief. Too late, Thaddeus realized the full weight of his words. ‘‘You’ve condemned yourself, Mr. Arnold. I’ll escort you back to your living quarters so that you may pack your belongings. As for your wife and child, I’ll not see them punished for your behavior. Mrs. Arnold will be given opportunity to remain in the house and take in boarders to support herself, should she desire.’’
Thaddeus’s complexion turned a shade of purplish red. ‘‘Why is it that men such as you can’t seem to understand women need to be kept in their place? Give them too much freedom and they consider themselves our equals. I’ll not tolerate such behavior from my wife or any of those uppity girls you hire to work in the spinning room,’’ he spat.
Standing up and walking around his desk, Matthew opened the office door. ‘‘Then it appears I’ve done you a service, Mr. Arnold. You’ll no longer have to contend with either the mill girls or your wife. Shall we go?’’
Bella stood in the foyer awaiting Taylor’s arrival. She had prepared a few notes after supper and then decided she would extract additional information from the attendees. Surely some of them had specific titles or authors they hoped to study. Perhaps she would take a vote and they would make their choice based upon the majority decision. Yes, she decided, the class would benefit from assisting her with the selection.
Deciding upon what she would wear to the meeting had taken a bit of thought, even though she had few choices. After considering her options, Bella had chosen her plaid dress of myrtle green and black. She’d purchased the fabric quite reason- ably and fashioned the style after one of the gowns Lilly Cheever had given her. With a few minor alterations to the pattern, the dress had taken on a unique appearance.
Taylor arrived in his uncle’s wagon and immediately upon greeting her at the door complimented her on the gown. A good choice, she decided, giving him a warm smile.
‘‘I thought perhaps Daughtie would be going with us.’’
‘‘So did I, but she decided to walk with the other girls instead.’’
‘‘I’m sorry to have the buckboard. I had hoped to have Uncle John’s carriage this evening. Unfortunately, he’s using it himself. He has a meeting with Mr. Boott and Mr. Cheever and then plans to visit Miss Addie again this evening.’’
Taylor held her books and papers as Bella donned her gray woolen cape. ‘‘She’s so delighted to have him back in Lowell. She tells me your uncle John had a letter waiting for him from his father in England when he arrived home, stating he’d moved to London,’’ she said as he assisted her up into the wagon.
‘‘Yes, and the move appears to have been an excellent decision. Apparently Grandpa Henry—that’s Uncle John’s father—found a doctor in London who can better treat his medical condition.’’
‘‘Miss Addie said the doctor required Mr. Farnsworth’s father move to London so he would be close at hand for the treatments.’’
‘‘Exactly. As luck would have it, Grandpa Henry was able to lease his house in Lancashire to a distant cousin. So it appears to have worked out well for all concerned. I know Uncle John holds out hope that his father’s health will one day improve enough to bring him to Massachusetts. In fact, he tells me Miss Addie has been very supportive of his desire to bring Grandpa Henry to the United States.’’
Bella glanced into a shop window as they passed by. ‘‘That doesn’t surprise me. Miss Addie is such a generous, loving person. They do complement each other, don’t you think?’’
‘‘Indeed. I wouldn’t be surprised to see them marry soon—if Miss Addie’s willing to give up the boardinghouse.’’
‘‘It would be difficult if she were to leave the house—nobody could take her place. And yet I would very much like to see her snatch this opportunity for happiness.’’
‘‘I’m certain it would please Uncle John,’’ he agreed. ‘‘After we parted this afternoon, I took Mr. Cheever’s carriage back to Mr. Kittredge’s livery as he had requested.’’
Bella’s eyebrows arched. ‘‘Yes?’’
‘‘Mr. Kittredge asked if I’d mind delivering a message to Mr. Cheever before I returned home. Of course I told him I’d be happy to do so. After delivering the message to Mr. Cheever, he told me there had been important developments in regard to the little boy in Canterbury.’’
‘‘David?’’
Taylor nodded. ‘‘Yes. Perhaps it was a good thing we didn’t gain custody of the boy. It seems he may not be Mrs. Cheever’s blood relative after all. Mr. Cheever said the child might be the son of a well-known Bostonian. And if that’s true, there’s even concern the father would do the child harm.’’
Bella listened carefully as Taylor outlined the latest revelation, her mind reeling with the information. ‘‘Then it could be dangerous for David to live in Lowell?’’
‘‘Absolutely. Mr. Cheever asked that we keep this information between us. He said he wanted to share it with you and me since we had made the journey to Canterbury with Mrs. Cheever.’’
‘‘And Mrs. Cheever? How did she take the news? Did she accept this information as truth?’’
‘‘Mr. Cheever said he’s attempting to convince her to put the child out of her mind.’’
‘‘I’m sure the poor woman is distraught—especially in her condition. I’m certain this news is very disturbing to her. We should both remember the Cheevers in our prayers.’’
Taylor gave her a sidelong glance. ‘‘I’m not much into praying yet, Bella. I’m just now becoming accustomed to actually listening in church.’’
Bella gave him a smile. ‘‘I’m pleased to hear you’re beginning to find the services enlightening. As to the praying, just talk to God as if you were talking to me. He doesn’t require special words, Taylor.’’
‘‘Seems a bit strange—just talking, that is—but I suppose I can give it a try,’’ he said as he pulled open the door of the Mechanics Association meeting room. ‘‘Here we are. I’m looking forward to your class.’’
The class, Bella decided, might prove more difficult than anticipated. She’d never previously conducted a meeting where both men and women were in attendance. She now questioned her ability to teach such a group. And her idea of having the participants make a choice had been cause for great debate. The women’s interests proved opposite to the men’s. After much debate, they’d finally agreed upon Ivanhoe, deciding it would provide something for both the male and female readers. By meeting’s end, she wanted nothing more than a quick retreat to the boardinghouse.
She had tied on her bonnet and had been waiting for at least fifteen minutes when Taylor finally approached. ‘‘Sorry for the delay, but I want to remain a little longer and visit with several of the men on another matter,’’ he told her. ‘‘And incidentally, I think you may need to develop a higher level of skill in these combined meetings. Some of the men thought you gave more consideration to the women’s requests.’’
His words punctured her already-wounded spirit. But instead of quietly retreating and reflecting upon his suggestion, she quickly rebutted.
‘‘Consideration is obviously not at the top of your list, either. If it were, you would have advised me beforehand that you would be remaining late. I’m exhausted, and our meeting went much longer than I’d expected. I’d prefer to leave now.’’
‘‘I’m sorry, Bella. It wasn’t my intent to upset you. Surely you know by now that I’d not intentionally hurt your feelings. I promise to have you home by curfew. After all, I wouldn’t want to tarnish the name of the woman I plan to marry.’’
Bella ignored his apology, unwilling to succumb to his charms. ‘‘That’s unacceptable. I’ve already waited longer than necessary. All of the other girls have already left for home.’’
‘‘I’ll tell the men we need to move swiftly. Please sit down and wait in the main meeting room.’’
She didn’t answer. Instead, she waited until he’d gone back to his meeting and then walked out the door. In any case, it wasn’t as if she didn’t know the way home by herself! Clutching her reticule in one hand and her paper work in the other, Bella strode off with purpose in her step. She realized it was later than she usually ventured out at night, especially unaccompanied, yet she was surprised to find the streets nearly deserted. Bella gave momentary consideration to Mr. Cheever’s warning that the women of Lowell should not walk alone at night but quickly pushed the thought aside. She was weary. Besides, Taylor should be escorting her home!
A gust of wind whipped at her cape, and she clutched it more tightly around her. A puddle of crisp fallen leaves swirled around the hem of her dress, and the moon’s light cast silhouettes of dancing tree branches in front of her. The breeze grew stronger and Bella glanced over her shoulder, certain that she’d heard something behind her. Probably the wind—or Taylor had realized she was gone and was following her. Her lips curved into a smile at the thought. He did care enough to leave the meeting. She gave thought to waiting for him but decided he could catch up quickly enough. However, she slowed her pace ever so slightly as she turned the corner. After all, she had spoken rather sharply, and differences were more easily resolved before they’d simmered for days on end.
Her heart quickened at the sound of the approaching footsteps. She began to turn and greet Taylor when, without warning, a rough hand slammed over her face. Before she had opportunity to struggle, a cloth was stuffed into her mouth and two large hands were wrenching her arms behind her. She could feel a coarse rope being twisted around her wrists while another set of hands was pushing aside the hem of her dress and tying her ankles with such force that the cord was cutting deep into her flesh. It was impossible to fight against the brute force of the men as they rolled her into a carpet and then hoisted her up. Her body was now tightly wound in the rug, and she struggled to breathe. Horror engulfed her. Why hadn’t she waited for Taylor? Instead of pushing her self-importance aside, she’d let emotion control her actions—and her life.
Taylor’s attempts to hasten the meeting proved futile, so it was nearing ten o’clock when the men finally decided to adjourn. Stealing a quick glimpse at the walnut case clock, he hurried from the meeting room. He could have Bella home by curfew if they hurried, and perhaps he’d still have time to set things aright. Rushing back to the small room where he’d left her, Taylor glanced in the doorway. Where was she? He pushed his way back through the sea of men exiting the building and momentarily felt as though he were swimming against a strong tidal wave that was going to suck him under. Finally making his way through the departing men, he hurried about the building, checking every nook and cranny, but Bella was nowhere to be found.
Taylor quickly realized it was going to take more than a few pleasant words to make amends, and there certainly wasn’t time tonight. Her absence spoke volumes. Pondering the idea of whether a small gift might aid his cause, Taylor exited and locked the front door. After work tomorrow, he’d stop in town and find something Bella might like. Once again he chastised himself for not mentioning his need to remain late this evening. But he hadn’t expected Bella’s intense reaction. She had spunk—of that he was now certain. He went home, then thought better of the situation. It would be wise to at least go to the boardinghouse and make sure she’d returned safely. He turned the wagon around and headed back down the street. At least this would show Bella how much he cared. When he reached Miss Addie’s house, however, he noted that all the lights had been extinguished. There was no sound coming from within—no doubt they had all retired. He couldn’t disturb them now. With a sigh, he headed back to John’s house.
‘‘I’ll see her tomorrow,’’ he murmured as he made his way home.
With the sound of the first bell, Taylor groaned and rolled over. He hadn’t slept well and now longed to remain abed for another hour or two, but such a luxury was impossible. Lifting the hand-painted pitcher of water, Taylor poured several inches into the matching china bowl and then splashed it on his face. Glancing into the mirror hanging above the oak chest, he shook his head in disgust. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, which gave him the appearance of a weary raccoon.
