The pattern of her heart, p.15
The Pattern of Her Heart, page 15
Although Justin and Reggie made several more attempts to halt the women’s ministrations, their suggestions went ignored. Finally, Justin sat down and watched while Reggie paced back and forth behind him, muttering words of irritation and disgust. When the group had the parlor arranged to their satisfaction, they clumped up the stairs to accomplish their next mission.
“Who could that be?” Justin asked as another knock sounded at the front door.
He pulled open the door and was greeted by the unremitting chatter of another group of women from the church. The thought of slamming the door was tempting, yet he maintained his dignity.
“Ladies! I do believe I have all the assistance I can stand for one day.”
“You can never have enough help when it comes to settling into a new house,” Cecile Turnvall remarked as she, Abigail Mitchell, and Charlotte Brown bustled into the parlor.
There was no stopping Cecile. She and her comrades immediately set about moving all of the furniture the first group had arranged only a short time earlier. They tugged and pulled and huffed and puffed until the furniture was settled into a display that met with her satisfaction.
“That is so much better,” she triumphantly announced. “Men have no sense of design and balance.”
Justin stared into the room. This group had returned the furniture to much the way he’d arranged it earlier in the day.
“Well, I have never been so insulted!” Winifred remarked as her small group came down the stairway in time to hear Cecile’s pronouncement. Winifred marched into the parlor with her mouth agape as she viewed the change that had taken place during her absence. “The furniture was perfectly arranged when we went upstairs. What have you done, Cecile?”
Cecile’s eyebrows furrowed. The woman was obviously confused. “I have set things aright in this parlor,” she answered calmly.
Winfred turned to her companions. “Gather your belongings, ladies. We’re not wanted here, and I’ll not be a part of making the pastor’s home into a gaudy facsimile of how a genteel home should appear.”
Justin stood helpless as Winifred, Martha, Caroline, and the other ladies who were members of the first contingency pinned their hats in place, yanked their parasols from the umbrella stand, and marched out the front door with the same vigor and determination with which they’d entered earlier.
“Now let’s get started in the dining room,” Cecile said to her collaborators.
Reggie tugged on her father’s sleeve. “Are you going to let them continue changing things around? Soon another group will show up and then another.”
Justin shrugged in confusion. “There’s no way to stop them. You know I’ve already tried.”
“Well, these ladies wouldn’t get away with this in Mrs. Brighton’s house. Sometimes the girls try to rearrange the furniture in the parlor or dining room, but Mrs. Brighton puts her foot down and immediately calls a halt to such activity. She would never allow such behavior in her house.”
“It’s too bad Mrs. Brighton isn’t here right now,” he said wearily. “Perhaps she would help us do the same. I believe I’ll go make sure the door to my study is locked. I don’t want them in there rearranging my books.”
Justin searched for his daughter a short time later, thinking perhaps the two of them should take their fishing poles and head off to the river. If the good church ladies were determined to occupy his house, then he and Reggie might as well enjoy themselves for the remainder of the day. But Reggie was nowhere to be found. Finally he remembered the secret opening in her upstairs closet and thought maybe she’d gone to hide in her room.
“Reggie?” He knocked on the door before entering her room, but she wasn’t there and the secret opening in the floor was securely covered.
He sat down on her bed but jumped to his feet when a burst of commotion erupted from downstairs. He hurried down the steps and stopped in the hallway. Elinor Brighton was standing beside Reggie, loudly clapping her hands.
“Ladies! Give me your immediate attention,” she commanded in an urgent tone before once again clapping her hands together.
A distinct look of irritation crossed Cecile’s face. “What is it?” she asked.
Unwavering, Elinor met Cecile’s formidable gaze. “You must all leave—immediately.”
“And might I ask just what authority you have in this matter?” Charlotte inquired.
“Exactly my question also,” Cecile added.
“I have been asked to arrange the house in a manner that will be most beneficial for Reggie as she undertakes her duties in the house. With all due respect, I must request that you leave, or I’ll be forced to use Pastor Chamberlain’s broom and sweep you out,” she said with a lopsided grin.
Elinor watched as Cecile Turnvall picked up a vase and crocheted scarf and began to arrange them on a side table. “Get the broom, Reggie!”
Cecile’s mouth opened into a wide oval. “You’re serious!”
“That I am,” Elinor replied as Reggie reappeared with a straw turkey broom. “I know your hearts are in the proper place and that your intentions are well founded. However, the pastor has asked you to leave, but you’ve not done so.” She waved the broom back and forth above her head. “Will you now leave peaceably, or must I put this broom to a use for which it was never intended?”
The women cast unhappy glances at Elinor, but she didn’t waver. Instead, she remained in place, wearing a pleasant expression on her face while they prepared for their departure.
“How dare she act in such a bold manner! Why, she’s simply trying to snag him for herself,” Charlotte whispered to Cecile.
“We’ll see about that! I know Martha Emory has plans for her Caroline and the preacher. I’m going to tell Caroline that she had best get busy, as she has some obvious competition,” Cecile said loudly enough for all to hear. “Although at her age, Elinor Brighton hardly seems competition.”
“She’s merely using the girl in order to win him over for herself,” Abigail agreed.
Elinor remained steadfast and didn’t say a word until the last of the visitors exited the house. “I believe they’re gone for good,” she said as she closed the door. “From what they said, I imagine they’ll be quick to tell the others what’s occurred.”
“I can’t believe you actually succeeded in forcing their departure,” Justin said with a hearty laugh. “And to think they actually believe you came here because you’re interested in finding a husband.”
“And not just any husband, but you. The very idea!” The two of them burst into gales of rippling laughter, not stopping until they were breathless.
Justin glanced at his daughter, who was staring at the two of them with a strange look in her eyes. “Good job, Reggie,” he said. “Thank you for fetching Mrs. Brighton.”
“You’re welcome.”
A strange faraway look remained in Reggie’s eyes. Justin tilted his head to one side, attempting to discern just what his daughter could be thinking. Perhaps she was coming down with a cold. He shook his head and uttered a silent prayer that this would not be the case.
CHAPTER • 9
MCKINLEY FOLLOWED behind Matthew as the two entered the home of Nathan Appleton. The gathering this evening would likely reveal the same behavior that was being exhibited throughout the entire Northeast. An ominous apprehension shrouded the room like a proclamation of death. McKinley shuddered as he inhaled a deep breath. The air was thick with fear.
“They’ve prepared themselves for the worst, and that is good,” Nathan whispered.
“For once I wish I could disappoint them,” Matthew replied with a look of weariness.
Nathan nodded and moved to his desk. “Gentlemen, we’ll not keep you waiting. Matthew has brought a report and his recommendations.”
McKinley accompanied Matthew to the desk and began to arrange the sheaf of papers in his case while Matthew greeted the members of the Boston Associates.
“We are all acutely aware the banks have been closed since the thirteenth of October. To date, there is no indication when they may reopen. Already there is a rise in unemployment. Real estate and grain prices have begun to decrease, although there are predictions the South will not suffer as greatly as the rest of the country due to their slave economy. Personally, I fear that if some means isn’t found to slow down the panic, we will find ourselves in a deep recession.”
“I agree,” Nathan said. “However, a financial panic can be like a malignant epidemic that kills more by terror than by real disease. Consequently we must remain level-headed.”
Matthew nodded his agreement. “But we must also be prepared for a tumultuous period, especially here in the North. We must have a definitive plan of action. From the reports I’ve received to date, we will continue to receive the cotton shipments as contracted from all of our Southern growers. I anticipate little shortage due to the yellow fever outbreak among our largest producers. However, if we don’t employ a replacement for Samuel Wainwright in the near future, we may face difficulty next year. Most of our contracts are due for renewal, and we’ll need someone to negotiate with the Southerners—unless we look elsewhere,” he hesitantly added.
A hush fell over the room. Even McKinley ceased shuffling through the paper work and directed his full attention to his father-in-law.
Finally breaking the silence, Thomas Clayborn rose to his feet. “Whatever do you mean by that remark, Matthew?”
“I’ve been contacted by an envoy representing the Russian cotton producers. They are very interested in wooing us back—their prices are certainly more competitive . . .”
“I thought we decided a number of years ago that the Russian cotton was inferior and we were not going to use substandard raw materials,” Leonard Montrose said.
“It appears the quality, at least what I saw, was equal to what we’ve been receiving,” Matthew replied. “If the Russian prices continue to drop and the economy doesn’t quickly recover, I believe this is an option we’ll need to seriously consider.”
“What they show you and what they actually deliver will likely be entirely different,” McKinley put in. “And what of our loyalty to the growers who have so capably supplied you through the years? If the country is to survive, should we not continue doing business within our own borders when products are available?” He was unable to keep his anger in check.
“You have a valid point, my boy,” Nathan said. “However, our first duty is to our investors. If the recession continues, we may want to consider the Russian cotton, but we should first give our Southern growers an opportunity to meet an equal price, don’t you think?”
The men muttered among themselves as a haze of cigar smoke floated upward and layered the room.
Matthew leaned forward. “I’m more than willing to give all of our suppliers equal opportunity, but if we sign contracts with the Southern growers, we will be bound and it will matter little what price the Russians offer. How do you plan to overcome such an obstacle? As in the past, I believe the Southerners will insist upon contracts.”
Nathan took a sip from his glass of port. “Once again, present them with an option. Tell them we will make every effort to purchase their cotton, but we’ll not be signing contracts at this time. It will be their choice.”
“You’re gambling with our future, Nathan,” Robert Woolsey cautioned.
“The South will likely pursue and win the English market. If the Russians don’t actually come through or if their product is inferior, we could be left without any cotton whatsoever. I believe we should contract with at least half of the Southern growers in the event this plan with Russia proves foolhardy,” Matthew suggested.
Nathan nodded his agreement. “All of life is a gamble, Robert. Fortunes are made and lost in the blink of an eye. Only the brave weather the storm.”
“Or drown,” Robert countered. “To lose my own investment is one thing—I have a vote in the matter. But we are responsible for the futures of more than ourselves. Give pause to think about the vast number of employees and suppliers who work for us and will be affected by the decisions we make this night as well as in the future.”
“No need to become maudlin,” Josiah Baines said. “We all realize these are weighty issues we’re settling upon.”
“And we do have time to wrestle with some, but Matthew cannot be expected to move forward without direction,” Nathan said.
Robert Woolsey stood to be recognized. “What is the situation regarding layoffs in the mills?”
“Layoffs will begin within the next month, and I surmise several of the mills will be closed down,” Matthew answered. “I truly dislike being the bearer of bad tidings, but all of you are intelligent men who understand what has happened as well as I do. The system of paper currency and bank credits in this country has caused wild speculation and gambling in stocks. Even President Buchanan has reported that the fourteen hundred banks in this country have been irresponsible and are deferring to the interests of their stockholders rather than the public welfare. Until there are restrictions forcing the banks to back their paper currency with gold and silver, these problems will continue. Let us hope Congress will finally take definitive action.”
“Well said, Matthew,” Nathan exclaimed. “Even those of us who own stock in many of these banks want to see matters handled in a more appropriate fashion.”
McKinley surveyed the room and wondered what these men must be thinking. His investments were of a much lesser value than the holdings of these men, yet he knew he stood on the brink of financial ruin. Fear had become McKinley’s constant companion, and he wondered if the calm appearance of these men was merely a fac¸ade. He longed to confide in his father-in-law, though his pride prohibited him from speaking.
Samuel had been his one confidant throughout the last several years. He had looked to his older brother as a mentor and a refuge where his secrets would be protected. Only Samuel had known McKinley’s financial woes. Only Samuel had known that, in his haste to provide Violet with the same worldly possessions she’d enjoyed in her father’s home, he had overextended himself—and he had continued down the same path even to this day, contracting and beginning to build an ever bigger and more lavish home for his family. He’d borrowed well beyond the worth of his investments. The only thing that could possibly pull him from his financial abyss was the sale of The Willows. He could only hope Jasmine would bargain well for its sale.
“For now, what say you in regard to new contracts, hiring a replacement for Samuel Wainwright, layoffs, and the many other issues bearing down upon us?” Matthew inquired.
“I suggest we empower you to cautiously move forward with layoffs where needed. In regard to the contracts, we have several months before we need make a final decision. Let’s give that topic additional thought.” Nathan scratched his beard. “I know if Samuel were alive, he would already be negotiating with the growers to secure their new contracts. However, I believe we should refrain from hiring a replacement at this juncture. If questions arise regarding contracts, we can then truthfully say we’ve been slowed down in the process due to Samuel’s untimely death. What say you?” he inquired.
Once again murmurs filled the room, like the annoying hum of mating cicadas. Each man was intent upon discussing his view with a neighbor before reaching a final decision. Each one was hopeful he could sway a comrade to his own particular viewpoint. After waiting several minutes, Nathan pounded a gavel and restored order to the group.
“We can talk after the meeting. For now let’s vote so those who need to return home may do so.”
McKinley was not surprised when an overwhelming majority agreed with Nathan’s proposal. They were usually in accord with his directives. Even those who voiced opposition during the meetings usually succumbed to the pressure to go along with the group. Like sheep, they nearly always followed their shepherd.
CHAPTER • 10
Early November 1857
JASMINE STEPPED into the library, her white kid slippers gliding across the carpet without a sound. Nolan’s chair was turned toward the garden, but he was obviously engrossed in the letter he held in one hand.
“A letter from home or a business matter?” Jasmine inquired as she drew near his chair and gently grasped his shoulder.
Nolan started at her touch. “I didn’t hear you approach,” he said, placing the letter on his desk. “The letter is from Albert Cameron at the Lowell Savings Bank, along with a note from Paddy that he included.”
“Is Paddy having problems with the farm?” she asked, taking a seat opposite her husband.
“No, nothing like that. Paddy could care for the farm and horses without a second thought. However, it seems the economy is much worse in the North—at least for the present time. Albert explains problems that have occurred and his prospects for the future. . . . It’s rather dim, I fear. He says he recently reviewed a number of Southern newspapers and was surprised at the lack of coverage regarding what he describes as a full-blown panic that has now thrown large portions of the country into a recession.”
“I’ve not heard or read anything that indicated the country was in a recession. Are we so far removed from the rest of the country that we have no idea what is transpiring at home? Surely Albert is exaggerating,” she said.
“He isn’t one to overstate his concerns, so I seriously doubt he would write unless he perceived this as a genuine problem. He says predictions of a quick recovery aren’t forthcoming, and he also states that President Buchanan referred to the country’s monetary interests as being in deplorable condition, though he does believe we’ll make a complete recovery.”
Jasmine stood up and moved to Nolan’s side. “This makes no sense. Why would this information not be important to the Southern community? For the life of me, I cannot understand why such matters would be hidden beneath a cloak of silence.”
