A Perfect Silhouette Read online

  “I’ve been suffering with headaches and some stomach ailments. Nothing that won’t go away once your father stops quarreling with me.”

  Morgan chuckled. “Surely Father isn’t arguing—he usually gives in to you so readily.”

  His father grunted. “Which, in this case, has proved to be a reprehensible error.”

  “Now, William, it isn’t quite that bad. If you’ll agree to my plan, we’ll still be able to resolve our problem.”

  “Our problem? I’m the one who will be held accountable—and likely go to jail.”

  Morgan sucked in a lungful of air. “Hold up a minute. I’m at a loss. What are you talking about? Does this have anything to do with the money to finance production of the prototype?”

  His mother’s clear blue eyes widened in surprise. “I thought your father had told you.”

  Mr. Stark shook his head. “No, Ruth. There was no need to worry Morgan. Besides, if he had wanted to know how the money was acquired, he would have come and asked me.” The older man’s gaze traveled from his wife to Morgan. “The fact that he hasn’t come for a visit until now is a sign, at least to me, that he didn’t want to know about the financial arrangements.” He arched his brows. “Am I right, Son?”

  Morgan sighed and nodded. “When Mr. Baldwin announced we were moving forward with the prototype, I hoped you hadn’t done anything improper, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask.”

  His father’s eyelids closed to half-mast. “You mean illegal, don’t you?”

  “I suppose I do.” Morgan’s voice was no more than a hoarse whisper.

  “Now, now. We don’t need to become maudlin. We’ll resolve this.” At the sound of footsteps in the hallway, his mother lifted a finger to her pursed lips.

  They remained uncomfortably silent while the maid was arranging the tray. When Lucy dawdled longer than necessary, his mother waved her from the room.

  As soon as the maid was out of earshot, Morgan turned to his father. “Does this mean you took money from the Amoskeag Company without the consent of the directors?”

  “It does.” His father’s eyes flashed defeat.

  “And you haven’t received the funds from Grandfather to repay what was taken?” Morgan stared at his mother, his stomach churning like a summer storm.

  Mrs. Stark bowed her head and picked at the edging on her handkerchief. “I’m sure I will. He’ll send the money any day now. I know it.”

  Morgan didn’t want to ask, but her answer begged yet another question. “And have the two of you decided what you’ll do if the money doesn’t come soon?” He shifted back to his father. “How long before someone discovers the money is missing?”

  Clearing his throat, Mr. Stark turned toward the bank of windows overlooking his wife’s flower garden. “We haven’t made any further decisions about how to replace the money.” His hand shook when he raked it through his thick white hair. “There’s an audit due the first day of November.”

  “First of November!”

  His mother started and clasped a hand to her chest. “No need to shout, Morgan. We both realize that doesn’t give us a great deal of time, but my father will help.”

  “How do you know that, Mother? Is this supposition on your part?” His question was somewhat overbearing, but the seriousness of their situation frightened him. “I don’t want Father going to jail because he agreed to your idea.”

  Lifting the handkerchief from her lap, she dabbed a tear from her cheek, then pointed to her husband. “He could have told me no.” Her voice cracked.

  All three of them knew the truth. Telling Ruth Stark no wasn’t an option. Her mother had died in childbirth, and her father had granted Ruth’s every wish from that moment forward. Little wonder she was certain he wouldn’t fail her now.

  “I’m sorry, William. I shouldn’t have insisted, but I didn’t want the circular loom to go to another mill. I don’t usually interfere in your business matters, except I thought this was one time when I could help.” She swiped another tear away and gave her husband a soulful look.

  “Have you heard anything at all from Grandfather?”

  She shook her head.

  “Is there a possibility he’s traveling? That he’s gone to Europe or that he’s ill? Perhaps you should send a telegram.”

  “I have. There’s been no response.”

  Morgan frowned. “What about sending a telegram to the housekeeper? Ask her to send word of his whereabouts.”

  His mother gave a slight nod. “I can do that, but if your grandfather is traveling, the staff will be away, too. He closes the house when he travels.”

  Morgan shook his head. “There must be someone who would know his whereabouts. We must do something.”

  “I am doing something.” She pursed her lips and lowered her brows. “I’ve been trying to think of a plan to recover the borrowed money.”

  Morgan wanted to correct her and say stolen or taken, but such a comment would likely cause further tears. “A plan? Does it have your approval, Father?”

  His mother sighed. “I didn’t say I’d developed a plan yet—but I will. You wait and see. I’ll take care of this. The two of you need not worry yourselves any further. I’ll take care of everything.”

  His mother’s words did little to relieve Morgan’s concern, but he decided against saying as much. To belabor the matter wouldn’t resolve anything.

  He offered her a feeble smile. “In the meantime I’ll be praying that your attempts to contact Grandfather are successful, and that he agrees to send the money.”

  A short time later, Morgan rode back to the boardinghouse. He attempted to read but was unable to think of anything other than possible methods to contact his Grandfather. Returning the book to his bedside table, he left the house and walked into town. Perhaps the fresh air would help calm his mounting fear.

  Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t hear the approaching footsteps as he continued down Elm Street. He startled when a hand grasped his arm. Pulling loose, he spun and looked into the eyes of Olive French. He sighed. Could this day become any more difficult?

  Her lips curved into a bright smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Now, isn’t this a wonderful happenstance?”

  He frowned at the sound of her syrupy-sweet voice. “Were you following me?”

  His tone was harsher than he intended. Her eyes widened, but she remained by his side. The sharp retort hadn’t been enough to send her scurrying back to wherever she’d come from.

  “No, I wasn’t following you. We’re just going in the same direction, I guess.”

  “And where were you going, Olive? It’s Sunday evening and the stores are closed.”

  “I just was out for a walk and saw you, that’s all.”

  He couldn’t deny her response might be true. After all, he too was out for a walk tonight with no destination in mind.

  She continued alongside him. “It’s a nice evening for a walk, don’t you think?” A grunt was his only response, which did nothing to deter her. “I was wondering if you’ve asked anyone to the Grand Complimentary Ball. There’s not much time to alter or purchase a dress.” She glanced up at him. “I mean if a girl was going and if she wanted a new dress.”

  “But if you were going, you wouldn’t need to alter or purchase a dress, would you, Olive?”

  Her brows danced up and down on her forehead. “I might.”

  “Come now, Olive. I think I know better. One of the fellows at work courts a girl who lives in your boardinghouse. He tells me that instead of worrying over dresses, you’ve been threatening one of the other girls and wearing her dresses to parties and dances.”

  When Joshua Stanley had mentioned Olive’s scheme as the men walked home from work several days ago, Morgan had been startled. Upon further questioning, he’d discovered several of the girls in Mellie’s boardinghouse had related the tale to their beaus. At first he’d been disheartened to learn the girls had spread the story, but now he was pleased to be armed with the knowled
ge.

  In the waning light, he saw wariness crowd Olive’s features. “You know what else he told me?”

  “No. What?” Her voice warbled.

  Morgan tipped his head so he could watch her expression. “He told me you’ve been telling the girls at Mrs. Richards’s boardinghouse that I’m your beau and that I asked you to the Grand Complimentary Ball.”

  Even with the lack of bright light, Morgan could see that she had visibly paled. “Well, I . . . I may have said I was hoping you’d be my beau and ask me to the ball.”

  He came to a halt and folded his arms across his chest. “No, Olive. That’s not what you said. You see, I did a little checking around. I was surprised by how much girls tell their beaus about what happens in their boardinghouses. Your story has come to me through several of the fellows at work.”

  Morgan was doing his best to be careful how he framed his conversation. He didn’t want to say anything that would implicate Mellie. But if he was going to get Olive to confess her wrongdoing, he’d need to be shrewd.

  “I have to admit that you’re a clever girl, Olive.” He lightened his tone and chuckled. “Not many girls would have gone to such extremes.”

  As her shoulders relaxed, she let out a long breath. “I’m good at getting what I want, and I hope that will include you.”

  “We’ll see. First you need to tell me a little more about your clever ways.” He winked at her.

  The wink did its work, and soon she’d related the whole ugly story of how she’d read Mellie’s journal and then threatened to have a scandalous story printed in the newspaper. She giggled. “I told her I have a friend who works there, but I don’t. She was foolish enough to believe me, which means I’ll be wearing her fine clothes for as long as I like.”

  “I see.” He offered a forced smile. “That answers my question about the dresses, but what about me? How did I become a part of this? How do you gain me as a beau by reading that girl’s journal? Was she writing things about me and you threatened to tell others?”

  She shook her head. “No, there was nothing about you in there. I just heard her mention your name one time, and I thought maybe she was sweet on you. I told her you were already spoken for and she needed to stay away from you or I’d tell all the secrets in her journal.” They’d been standing in front of the bookseller’s shop, and she nodded. “Shall we continue walking?”

  Anger swelled in Morgan’s chest and threatened to cut off his breath. How could this young woman be so mean-spirited?

  “No, Olive, I don’t want to walk with you. In truth, I think you should apologize to the young lady you’ve threatened and ask her forgiveness.” He inhaled a sharp breath. “And after that, perhaps you should consider seeking God’s forgiveness.”

  Chapter

  fourteen

  MELLIE SMILED AND WAVED TO MORGAN WHEN HE walked into the shop. She was eager to tell him about her answered prayer, but until she finished cutting the silhouette of an uncooperative little boy, her news would have to wait.

  Morgan strode to her side and nodded toward the boy. “Looks like you’ve got an unhappy little fellow on your hands.”

  Mellie sighed. “Yes, even with his mother holding him, he won’t settle. If he doesn’t quit crying, she’ll likely leave without purchasing a cutting.”

  “Let me see what I can do.” He walked a short distance from the child, then snapped his fingers over his head. The little boy looked in his direction, and once Morgan had the child’s attention, he pulled a bandalore from his pocket, wound the string between the two wooden disks, slipped his finger into the loop at the end of the string, and flicked his wrist. The bandalore flew in an outward direction and then whirled up the string and back into his hand. The child watched with rapt attention while Morgan continued to dance the bandalore up and down the string, first in one direction and then in another. While he was entertaining the little boy, Mellie deftly snipped the profile.

  Once Mellie had helped the young mother select a frame for her son’s silhouette and the two had departed, she hurried to Morgan’s side. “You’re not going to believe what has happened.”

  He tipped his head to the side. “Seeing that smile of yours makes me think it must be something good.”

  “More than just good—it’s wonderful. God has answered my prayers.”

  “How so?” He sat down on the stool and faced her.

  “Olive came to my room last evening. At first, I thought she was going to force me to loan her another one of my dresses or make some other demand. Instead, she apologized for her actions and promised she’d never reveal the contents of my journal. She then told me how she’d lied about having a friend who worked at the newspaper office and asked for my forgiveness.” She leaned toward him. “I shouldn’t be amazed that God answered my prayer, yet I could barely believe my ears when Olive revealed her change of heart.” When he didn’t appear surprised, she arched her brows. “Don’t you believe me?”

  “Yes, of course. But rather than a nudge from God, I think it was a giant push from me that may have caused Olive to change her ways.”

  Mellie listened as he revealed a portion of the recent discussion he’d had with Olive. “It may have been a push from you, but it was God who nudged you to speak with Olive. Don’t you see? He used you to answer my prayers.”

  He chuckled. “So I’m a go-between, am I?”

  “I suppose you could say that, but you’re in good company. Do you recall how God used Ananias to restore Saul’s sight? God uses His people to carry out His will and to answer prayer all the time. To be used by God in such a way is truly an honor, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, but it’s a little overwhelming to think that what I did was carrying out God’s plan.” He gave her a sidelong glance. “Did she go into detail about what happened to cause her change of heart?”

  “No. She said she didn’t want to discuss how or why she’d decided to ask my forgiveness, and I didn’t press her. I was overjoyed by her newfound attitude and didn’t want to make the situation more difficult for either of us. Knowing I didn’t need to worry about retribution if she saw us together or that she’d be skulking in my room when I returned home provided ample relief. The apology was significant, and I care little about the details.”

  “I’m pleased you were willing to accept Olive’s apology. You know, there are times when accepting an apology can be almost as difficult as offering one.”

  “I suppose that is true.” Her thoughts drifted back to Concord and the unkindness that had been heaped upon her sister. “If healing doesn’t take place, bitterness usually follows.”

  Mellie stared at a silhouette she’d cut earlier in the day of two children and thought of her niece and nephew. She hoped Margaret had discovered some way to overcome the pain caused by her husband. If not, anger and resentment would take root in her sister’s heart and affect the children. Mellie longed to do more than pray and send money, but living in another city didn’t permit the closeness they’d once taken for granted. Margaret’s letters remained silent regarding the pain and humiliation she’d been forced to bear. Yet Mellie could read between the lines. The foreclosure on the house had been completed, and Margaret and the children were now living in a ramshackle farmhouse—the one she’d mentioned in an earlier letter. The banker still brought his children but constantly complained about the distance. And now he was seeking a capable tutor who lived closer to his home.

  The click of snapping fingers pulled Mellie back to the present, and she smiled at Morgan. “I’m sorry. My thoughts wandered.”

  When the bell over the front door jingled, she turned to see Mr. Knoll and Mr. Harrison enter the store. Mr. Knoll carried a sign in one arm while Mr. Harrison carried a metal canister. After placing it on the counter, he turned toward Mellie and Morgan. “Come see what we’ve got. I think there are going to be a lot more customers in the store.”

  Mr. Knoll held the sign in front of him. Mellie took a step closer and then gasped. “A l
ottery? Is this some sort of misguided prank?” She shook her head. “This can’t be true.” Her stomach tightened as she looked from one man to the other. “Who would want to promote such a thing?”

  Mr. Harrison frowned. “I don’t know. Perhaps several of the shop owners decided it would be a good way to develop more business. No matter who decided, I think there will be folks coming into the shops who haven’t in the past. And we can all use more business.”

  Mr. Knoll nodded his agreement.

  Mellie looked back and forth between the two men. Did they truly think this was a sound idea?

  Mr. Harrison removed several smaller signs and placed one of them on a metal stand atop the counter. “There are tickets inside the envelope, Mellie. When you sell a ticket, you must write down the name of the purchaser and the ticket number so we can provide a record prior to the drawing.” He walked behind the counter and gathered a pen, ink, and piece of paper, then placed them beside the envelope.

  “I’m sorry, but I won’t sell lottery tickets, Mr. Harrison.”

  He continued speaking as though she hadn’t said anything. “Samuel and I were talking on the way. I’m certain every shop in town will participate. People will come in to purchase a ticket, and once inside, they’re more apt to look around and have you cut a silhouette or sit for a portrait, maybe even purchase a painting.” Mr. Harrison smiled at Mr. Knoll.

  “I don’t believe you heard me, Mr. Harrison. I said that I will not sell lottery tickets—not in your store or in any other store. I do not believe in gambling. I’ve witnessed the ruination that can be caused by wagering, and I’ll not be a part of it.”

  Mr. Harrison’s mouth fell open. “A lottery isn’t the same as betting on horses or wagering at cards, Mellie. This isn’t going to be something that occurs all the time. I don’t believe you can place this lottery in the same category as gambling.”