Tracie Peterson & Judith Miller - [Lights of Lowell 01] (11 page)

Jasmine recoiled from his touch. ‘‘You forget yourself, sir,’’ she said, her drawl quite pronounced.

Bradley shook his head. ‘‘I’m well aware of what I’m suggesting. I just wonder if you understand it as well.’’

C
HAPTER
•
8

A
LICE TAPPED
her fingers on the table beside her chair and contemplated the wisdom of her decision. If Malcolm should find out, he would be upset. No—he would be furious. She had given her consent to Jasmine in haste, and now she couldn’t go back on her word. ‘‘And what of Bradley?’’ she muttered.

‘‘Excuse me, ma’am?’’ Martha drew closer. ‘‘I didn’t hear your question.’’ The tall, stern-faced woman watched her employer with some interest.

‘‘Oh, Martha, I didn’t know you had come into the room. I’m talking to myself. I fear I’ve made a muddle of things,’’ she confided.

Martha began arranging an armful of flowers from the garden.

‘‘I’ve never known you to possess anything but the soundest of judgments. How could you have possibly muddled any matter?’’

‘‘When Jasmine and I were at the library yesterday, we happened to see Lilly Cheever. She reminded me of the antislavery meeting that’s taking place on Wednesday. Of course, Jasmine heard the conversation and immediately asked if she could attend.’’

Martha put her hand to her neck in surprise. ‘‘Oh, Mrs.Wainwright! You didn’t agree?’’

‘‘Yes, I’m afraid I did.’’

‘‘Whatever will her father think?’’

Alice appreciated her housekeeper’s frankness. They had always shared more of a friendship than a relationship of employee and employer. ‘‘That’s my concern. I know Malcolm will be angry and likely never permit Jasmine to visit again. My only hope is that he won’t find out. After all, it’s only one meeting, and if I tell Jasmine never to discuss her attendance with anyone, perhaps Malcolm will remain unaware. Quite frankly, I’m more concerned with the possibility of someone mentioning her attendance to Bradley Houston. Should he find out, there is little doubt he’d tell Malcolm.’’

Martha trimmed the stems on several crimson roses before placing them in the vase. ‘‘I thought Mr. Houston was active in the antislavery movement.’’

‘‘Nolan Houston is active, but I’ve never seen Bradley at any of the meetings or heard him profess his beliefs one way or the other. However, with his involvement in the textile mills, I think he would frown upon any active participation in the antislavery movement. And now that he’s professed a romantic interest in Jasmine, I’m certain he won’t want her exposed to the ever-growing antislavery sentiments.’’

‘‘Have you considered telling the child you’ve reconsidered and believe your decision was ill-advised?’’

‘‘I could, but a part of me believes Jasmine needs to hear the truth about slavery. She’s never given any thought to the fact that the Wainwrights actually own human beings.’’

Martha gave her mistress a shrewd grin while pushing a scarlet-red rose deep into the vase. ‘‘Well, if you change your mind, you could always be forced to remain at home due to a stomach ailment— or perhaps a headache.’’

Alice returned the smile. ‘‘I’ll keep your suggestion in mind, but I’m thinking that if the need arises, I can always tell Malcolm and Bradley the truth: that hearing both sides of any issue is important to sound decision-making. Although I’m certain Bradley thinks a woman should embrace the same beliefs as her husband,
I
certainly don’t adhere to such a viewpoint.’’

Martha nodded. ‘‘Whatever you think is best.’’

Bradley donned his black silk hat and checked his pocket watch one last time. Tardiness, he had decided many years ago, was a habit of ill-bred individuals who would never succeed in life.

That resolve in mind, Bradley knew he would be on time for his meeting today, no matter the cost or inconvenience. His image with the Associates was of paramount importance, and today’s meeting would likely prove decisive. He tucked Malcolm Wainwright’s letter into his pocket, stepped up into his carriage, and arrived at Matthew Cheever’s office within fifteen minutes. The number of carriages already present startled him, and he once again looked at his watch. The meeting wasn’t due to begin for another ten minutes.

He hurried through the iron gate and across the mill yard toward Matthew’s office. All of the other Associates who had been summoned to the meeting were already assembled in the room when he entered. All eyes turned in his direction. He hadn’t felt this level of discomfort since his primary school days when the instructor would sometimes call upon him unexpectedly.

He took a brief moment to gain his composure before removing his hat. ‘‘Good day, gentlemen.Was the schedule for our meeting changed without my knowledge?’’

‘‘Welcome, Bradley,’’ Matthew greeted. ‘‘No, the time wasn’t changed. I asked the other members to come a half hour early.’’

Bradley waited, but Matthew offered no further explanation, which left him to wonder what the group might have wanted to discuss in his absence. ‘‘I trust I gave you sufficient time to conclude your conversation.’’

‘‘Indeed,’’ Nathan Appleton said. ‘‘What news can you share regarding our friends in the South? Are you making any headway with your negotiations?’’

Bradley reached into his jacket and extracted Wainwright’s recent letter. ‘‘As a matter of fact, I received this letter from Malcolm Wainwright only two days ago. He and his brothers are close to reaching an agreement with us. They sent a refusal to Mr.

Haggarty, their English buyer, with notice they’ll negotiate terms no further. They requested Haggarty’s signature on a refusal to contract. Once they receive the endorsed refusal, they will be prepared to contract with us. The tone of the letter is extremely positive.’’

‘‘That’s excellent news,’’ Nathan commented. ‘‘I don’t think I could be more pleased.’’

Bradley took a moment to bask in Appleton’s accolades before continuing. ‘‘I believe the balance of the letter may prove you wrong on that account. There is even more good news,’’ he said.

‘‘With my strong encouragement, Mr. Wainwright has taken it upon himself to tell other growers about our strong desire to do business with Southern plantation owners throughout Louisiana and Mississippi. There are a number of them who are looking favorably toward conducting business with us if it would prove more lucrative than continuing their current contracts with England. Of course, none of them would yield the amount of cotton that the Wainwrights’ harvest will, but if we can gain control of the area one grower at a time, I’m certain we’ll soon have all the cotton needed to keep our mills operating at maximum capacity. Perhaps it will even signal a time for expansion.’’

Nathan Appleton’s tremendous enthusiasm was beyond expectations. He bounded from his chair and pumped Bradley’s arm in an exaggerated handshake while encouraging the other members to offer their congratulations. ‘‘You see? I told you our earlier meeting was unnecessary. Bradley is worthy of the confidence Matthew and I placed in him.’’

Wilson Harper shifted in his chair. ‘‘I never said he wasn’t worthy of our confidence. I said the reports thus far had not been favorable and I feared the Wainwrights would remain with the English markets. I’m pleased now that Bradley has been able to prove me wrong.’’

‘‘That’s good to hear,’’ Bradley put in. He knew Harper had never been one of his strong supporters, which made his comment even more pleasurable.

‘‘For planning purposes, does Mr. Wainwright say when we may expect to have a signed contract in our hands? Or, for that matter, when do you expect to secure a signed contract with any of these men?’’ Wilson Harper asked with a sanctimonious grin curving his lips.

‘‘I’ll be returning to Mississippi in mid-November and expect we will already be receiving cotton from the Wainwrights by the time I sail. As for the other producers, I believe we’ll have contracts from some of them in the very near future. Others may wait until the Wainwrights have actually begun doing business with us.

However, we will benefit from their contracts even if they sign late in the year. Many of the producers are still harvesting in December and January.’’

‘‘If you’ve secured an agreement with the Wainwrights, why do you find it necessary to return to Mississippi in November?’’

Wilson asked.

Several members turned their attention to Bradley, and he knew he must respond now. Otherwise, the powerful momentum he had gained during the meeting might be lost. ‘‘I’m going to escort Miss Wainwright back to The Willows, where we will be married during the Christmas holidays. I hope that news will put to rest any further concerns you might have, Mr. Harper.’’

There were several surprised gasps, followed by what seemed an interminable silence. Nathan was the first to speak. ‘‘Let me offer my hearty congratulations, Bradley. Miss Wainwright is a beautiful young woman, and I’m certain she’ll make you a fine wife.’’

Eyes sharpened, Robert Woolsey gave Bradley a slow smile.

‘‘And seal his business transactions as well.’’

Bradley wasn’t certain if Woolsey’s remark was filled with scorn or jealousy, but he decided to let the retort pass when Matthew slapped Woolsey on the shoulder and said, ‘‘Sounds as though you’re sorry you didn’t have the wherewithal to win Miss Wainwright’s hand for yourself.’’

Woolsey flushed. ‘‘No offense intended, Bradley. After all, your success swells all of our coffers. Accept my best wishes for your happiness with Miss Wainwright.’’

By the time the meeting ended, Bradley was receiving enthusiastic best wishes from every one of the men in attendance. He departed the meeting with a sense of elation he hadn’t experienced since receiving his father’s business assets, but by the time he arrived home his emotions were as mixed as when he’d been told Nolan would receive his mother’s valuable paintings as his inheritance. Telling the assembled group of Associates that he planned to marry Jasmine Wainwright before advising Jasmine of his intentions and actually having the betrothal approved and announced by her father might prove to be a frivolous mistake.

However, if luck remained with him, neither Malcolm Wainwright nor his daughter would ever become aware of his boastful— and premature—announcement.

C
HAPTER
•
9

A
LICE SETTLED
into the church pew with Jasmine at her side. Her granddaughter was busy looking over the crowd assembling in the old Pawtucket church, where antislavery meetings had been conducted for more than fifteen years. The church soon filled to capacity, and many of the attendees were forced to stand in the aisles or out in the churchyard.

There were two speakers, both freed slaves who spoke to the gathering of their work with Frederick Douglass and William Lloyd Garrison. When they finished their short speeches, it was Nolan Houston who called out from the back of the room and asked them to tell the crowd how they had gained freedom.

The slave who called himself George moved forward on the small stage. ‘‘It was de hand of God what moved in a mighty way to give us our freedom, for our master was cruel and so was his missus. We’s got de scars to show for his mean streak. One day some Quakers come through Virginia, and dey stopped and asked if the master could spare a cool drink. Dem Quakers stayed and talked and talked to the master and his missus.

‘‘Dey stayed for three days, talking and praying until they finally convinced our owner it was de right thing to emancipate his slaves. So de master and his missus, dey decided dey was gonna sell their place and move off to Ohio and earn dem a living by working with they own hands. Dey told us all we was free to go on our way. We thought it was a trick until de Quakers told us about de praying they’d been doin’ for days. Even so, we ’spected de dogs to come huntin’ us down. But dey never did. Don’ know what happened to any of dem white folk. Ain’t never see’d ’em since den. I ain’t never looked back, but I’m mighty thankful for dem Quaker folk.’’

The two former slaves talked awhile longer, answering questions and removing their shirts to reveal the angry scars of abuse— scars that spoke louder than any words they might utter. The entire crowd seemed to groan in unison as the men told of iron shackles, bullpens, and stocks being used to punish slaves.

Jasmine nudged her grandmother. ‘‘I know all these people are abolitionists, but do they not realize there are many slaves who are well treated and happy?’’

Alice arched her eyebrows. ‘‘And where would that be?’’

Jasmine stared at her grandmother in disbelief. ‘‘Why, at
any
Wainwright plantation.’’

‘‘Do you believe the slaves at The Willows are content with their lot in life, Jasmine?’’

‘‘Of course they are. They are well cared for. Happy. Content.

They love us.’’

‘‘You need not continue to defend your opinion. I’m not going to argue with you, dear, but why did you want to come to this meeting if you disagree with abolition?’’

Jasmine fidgeted with her gloves. ‘‘I wanted to hear their views, but I didn’t expect the speeches to be inflammatory. I think they should temper such talk by explaining there are slave owners who treat their people exceedingly well.’’

Alice smiled at her granddaughter but said nothing. She’d not enter into a disagreement that might cause Jasmine to discuss this gathering with her father at a later date. She sighed, knowing Jasmine had been sheltered from the realities of life on the plantation.

Alice tried not to fret about the matter, but an uneasiness hung over her like a foreboding of tragedy to come. Now she was certain she’d made a mistake. She should have followed Martha’s advice and remained at home.

The meeting broke up a short time later. Had Alice been there alone, she might have lingered to revisit some of the evening’s discussion with her friends. Now all she wanted to do was depart before Jasmine managed to get drawn into some of the more heated arguments. With an authoritative, no-nonsense air, Alice moved Jasmine to the door.

‘‘Why are we leaving so quickly, Grandmother? Is something wrong?’’ Jasmine questioned as they descended the stairs.