A Perfect Silhouette Page 19

  “No.” She drew in a deep breath. “Remember when you asked me to attend the ball?”

  “Yes. You didn’t want to attend because of the lottery. I understand, and I don’t want you to feel any remorse about your decision.”

  She paused. “What if I’ve changed my mind?”

  He stopped and turned to her with a smile. “Truly?”

  “Not about the lottery. I still abhor that, but I’ve learned Phebe is going to attend. If I don’t go, she may think her decision is improper. I don’t want to do anything that would cause her further difficulty.”

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “And you’d love to be by my side.”

  She rolled her eyes and grinned. “I would indeed.”

  He kissed her forehead. “You have no idea how much I needed some good news today.”

  Mellie’s heart soared at the look in his eyes. Her news had delighted him, and now she couldn’t wait for the ball.

  Thankfully, Mr. Harrison hadn’t objected when Mellie requested the evening off work. He’d agreed there wouldn’t be much business in town on the evening of the Grand Complimentary Ball, especially on the night when the winning lottery ticket would be drawn. Mellie had ignored his remark about the lottery, knowing that Mr. Harrison and Mr. Knoll would be in attendance for that portion of the ball. The two men had both purchased tickets, and Mr. Knoll said he wanted to be there to pick up his winnings. Mellie doubted either of the men would win, yet it seemed everyone who came into the store or worked in the mills had the same opinion—the winnings would be theirs by the end of the ball. All but one would be sorely disappointed.

  Over the next few days, Mellie did her best to help Phebe, Cora, and Clara with their dresses. They had to work by candlelight in the attic room long after they were supposed to be in bed, and she hoped the end result would be worth their lack of sleep. Before leaving for work at the photography shop, Mellie detailed what they could work on while she was gone. If each of the girls was going to have properly fashioned attire, the dresses would require alterations. Seams would need to be tightened or loosened, necklines lowered, and lace, bows, and trim added to transform Mellie’s day dresses into fashionable gowns for her friends.

  On the day of the ball, the girls rushed home more quickly than usual. Most days they walked a little more slowly in the evening, but not today. They would need to eat and be dressed before their escorts arrived at eight-thirty. The ball was scheduled to begin promptly at nine o’clock, and no one wanted to miss even a minute. The evening meal consisted of leftover dishes from the noonday meal—cold mutton, bread, pickles, cheese, beets, and fried potatoes, the only warm dish on the table.

  Mrs. Richards scurried into the room with a deep blue shot-silk gown draped across one arm. “Eat what you want. I don’t have time to worry over your meal tonight. I’ve been busy pressing my gown. I’m going to my room to dress.” She started out of the room, then stopped in the doorway. “Is there anyone who isn’t going to the ball this evening?” Two of the youngest girls raised their hands as though they were students in a classroom. Mrs. Richards smiled and gave a nod. “Good. You two clear the table and do the dishes. I’ll decrease your room and board for next week.”

  The two girls bobbed their heads in unison, and Mrs. Richards continued toward her bedroom. Mellie had been surprised to learn several of the boardinghouse keepers would be in attendance this evening. Mrs. Richards had been clear regarding her own intent: She hoped to find a suitor who would eventually propose marriage so that she could resign her position as a keeper. Maybe that was the intent of all the keepers who planned to attend. On the other hand, perhaps some of the others simply wanted to enjoy an evening of fun or see if they’d won the lottery.

  The minute they’d eaten enough to ward off their hunger, the girls rushed upstairs to their rooms. Cora and Clara performed their toilettes and then returned downstairs to the kitchen, where they could heat their curling tongs. As soon as Phebe and Mellie completed their toilettes, they slipped into their wrappers and ran downstairs. Phebe and Mellie had considered forgoing the curling tongs entirely, but they finally decided upon braided chignons with curls only at the sides of their faces. It would take less time yet permit them to be more fashionable than usual.

  Phebe followed Mellie into the kitchen and pointed to a chair. “I’ll do yours first.” She lifted a long strand of Mellie’s hair and coiled it around one of the hot tongs. “One of the things I disliked the most when I came to work in the mills was how I had to be careful to keep every strand of my hair tucked and pinned tight to my head.” She lifted another strand of Mellie’s hair. “Did they warn you about that on your first day?”

  “Yes. Cora told me there had been girls who would let their hair loose after beginning work and it would get caught in the looms and tear their hair from their heads. She told me it tore the scalp from one girl and she died.” Mellie shuddered. “I can’t imagine anything so horrible. Hearing that was enough for me to be certain my hair is always pulled back in a tightly braided knot.”

  Phebe placed the tongs back on the stove. “There’s a looking glass in the hallway. See if you want more curls. I like it with three on each side, but I’ll do more if you want.”

  After standing on tiptoe to see over several other girls, Mellie returned to the kitchen. “This is lovely. Thank you, Phebe. Now let me get started on your hair.”

  Afterward, they returned upstairs, where the girls each donned their gowns. Mellie wore a deep violet one, Phebe a rich emerald, Cora a pale yellow with mauve flounces, and Clara a bright poppy. They attempted to twirl for each other, but the effort proved impossible in their tight quarters.

  Cora giggled. “We look like flowers in a colorful garden, don’t you think?”

  Mellie agreed. “I think Billy and Jimmy Bobeck will consider themselves very fortunate when they lay eyes on the two of you.” She glanced at Phebe. “And the same can be said for you, Phebe. I know your beau is going to be delighted to show you off to his friends.”

  Phebe’s cheeks pinked, and she lowered her eyes. “I know I said this before, but I want to thank all of you for everything you’ve done for me. If it weren’t for the three of you . . .”

  Phebe’s voice trailed off as tears pooled in her eyes. Mellie stepped to her side and embraced her. “Just having you with us is thanks enough, Phebe. Now, let’s put on our brightest smiles and go downstairs to await our beaus.”

  When Mrs. Richards announced Morgan had arrived, Mellie carried her cloak to the foyer. She smiled at him. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d forgotten me.”

  “I’m sorry. I was late leaving work, but I could never forget you.” He leaned close and placed her cloak around her shoulders. “You look beautiful, Mellie.” A shiver raced down her arms as he spoke. “Trust me, we’ll be there on time. I rented a carriage for the evening.”

  “You shouldn’t have gone to such expense.”

  He offered his arm, then opened the door. “Nothing is too good for you, Mellie. One day I hope to offer you much more.”

  The Grand Complimentary Ball was nothing like the formal balls Mellie had attended in Concord. A few of the men were attired in suits, although most wore mismatched jackets and trousers. The only man wearing a formal black waistcoat, studded white shirt, vest, and well-fitting pants was Mr. Vance, the director of the dance school. Likewise, those ladies unable to afford ball gowns were clothed in their Sunday day dresses with added lace at the bodice or fancy trim along the hem. A few owned fichus and had draped them around their shoulders for a more festive appearance. Mrs. Vance appeared at her husband’s side in a modest lavender gown. Either she didn’t own a ball gown or she didn’t want to outshine the other ladies.

  Noticeably absent were the wealthy residents of Manchester. None of the owners or managers of the mills was in attendance, at least as far as Mellie could see. Perhaps they would make an appearance later in the evening. Surely those in charge of the lo
ttery would appear to conduct the drawing. For now, it appeared as if Mr. Vance and a small committee of his dance students were in charge of the festivities, and they’d gone to great effort to replicate the setting of a fancy ball.

  Even though they’d paid for their tickets to attend the dance, the attendees were announced as if they’d received an engraved invitation to a private affair. Mellie smiled at Morgan as one of the young men cupped his hands to his mouth and called out their names.

  Morgan chuckled. “I believe he’s auditioning for a position in the queen’s court.”

  “I think Mr. Vance must have instructed him to be certain everyone could hear the names of the attendees, though I’m not sure why. Perhaps it has something to do with the lottery drawing.”

  Morgan’s brows dipped. “I don’t think the lottery drawing will bring out the society folks. I doubt it would prove enough incentive for them to mingle with the working class.”

  “You’re probably right.” She gestured toward the large white urns that had been filled with sparkling greenery and situated throughout the room. Candles glowed from gold sconces and illuminated the space in a glowing halo of light. “They’ve done a fine job with the decorations, don’t you agree?”

  “Yes, it appears Mr. Vance and his committee have dedicated many hours to the decorations. Let’s hope they have hired some excellent instrumentalists, as well.”

  “We’ll soon see.” She nodded toward the platform, where the musicians were taking their places.

  They plunked and tooted until they were certain each instrument was in tune before nodding to Mr. Vance. Acting as floor manager, Mr. Vance stepped forward and directed the orchestra to begin. There were no programs or dance cards and no promenade. The gathering was a distant cousin to the balls held in the grand homes of high society. Yet this dance had a unique charm of its own, a spirit of camaraderie and equality.

  Mr. Vance and his wife took a turn around the dance floor before he beckoned the others to join in. As the couples danced in time to the music of a waltz, the hanging garlands of white feathers swayed overhead and created an almost ethereal atmosphere. After another waltz, the musicians announced a galop followed by two polkas.

  To Mellie’s surprise, Morgan proved to be an admirable dancer, never missing a single step. When she praised his skill, he brushed it off, saying he danced well only when his partner was as talented as she.

  Completing the second polka, Mellie tugged on Morgan’s sleeve. “I think I’d like something to drink and a few minutes to catch my breath.”

  He chuckled. “You’re willing to leave the dance floor and miss the mazurka?”

  “I am. If they had announced another waltz, I might have waited for refreshments, but I don’t think I could complete a mazurka after a galop and two polkas. Maybe Mr. Vance should tell his musicians we aren’t all accustomed to so much spirited activity.”

  “Perhaps this is Mr. Vance’s way of letting us know we all need to be participating in his dancing lessons, so we can strengthen our endurance.” Morgan grinned.

  “Or he’s trying to help the doctor with added business. Maybe he thinks this strenuous dancing will cause heart palpitations.” Mellie clasped a hand over her heart and chuckled. “If so, I do believe he’s succeeded—at least with me.”

  “In that case, let’s hurry and locate the refreshments.”

  They made their way to a room across the hall, where tables had been arranged and covered with crisp, white cloths. Several young men stood in readiness, handing Mellie and Morgan china plates when they neared the serving table. An array of biscuits, crackers, cheeses, and sandwiches filled the silver serving trays. And assorted cakes, fruits, and meringues were nestled onto tiered serving stands, each one more inviting than the last. At a separate table, urns of coffee and tea, along with ices and lemonade, were offered. Mellie accepted a tall glass of lemonade before they were escorted to a small private table to enjoy their repast.

  “Mr. Vance and his students are to be commended on a lovely event. I doubt the cost of tickets covered all the expenses.” Mellie glanced toward the serving table. “I hope the party will garner him additional students so that his expenditure proves worthwhile.”

  “So do I, because these cakes are delicious. I’d attend his dances just for the opportunity to enjoy the cakes.” He leaned toward her and winked. “And to enjoy your company, of course.” He popped another piece of lemon cake into his mouth.

  “With the number of those little cakes you’ve eaten, I think my company is quite secondary to the treats being served.” She pursed her lips in a mock pout.

  Their laughter was interrupted by several short blasts of the trumpet, followed by Mr. Vance calling for everyone to join him in the ballroom. Mellie and Morgan moved back to the ballroom and weaved through the crowd until they were near Cora, Clara, and the Bobeck brothers.

  Mellie tipped her head close to Cora’s ear. “What’s happening, do you know?”

  “I think Mr. Vance is going to conduct the lottery drawing.” She nodded toward the stage, where a large brass urn had been placed center stage.

  “Truly? I wonder if Mr. Vance is one of those who decided the lottery would be good for business. If so, I suppose it makes sense that he would conduct the drawing.”

  Morgan hiked a shoulder. “I don’t believe anyone has ever said who originated the lottery. Perhaps it was Mr. Vance, although it seems unlikely he would have organized it on his own.” He scanned the room, then leaned close to Mellie’s ear. “I do see a number of other business owners in the room, including Mr. Harrison and Mr. Knoll.”

  She followed his gaze across the room. “Mr. Harrison said they’d be here for the drawing. They both think they’re going to win.” She gave a wry grin. “I’m not sure how they believe that’s possible.”

  Morgan chuckled. “Wishful thinking from both of them, I suppose.”

  Mr. Vance cleared his throat. “I’m going to reach into this urn and draw the winner’s name in just a moment. I had hoped that the sponsor of the lottery would be here to draw the winner’s name, but she is ill and requested I do the honors. However, I’d like all of you to know that Mrs. William Stark is the fine lady who originated and executed this lottery. I have a note from her that I’ll read to you.”

  Morgan gasped, but before Mellie could question his reaction, Mr. Vance called for quiet in the room.

  A fellow in the back slipped through the crowd and cupped his hands to his mouth. “Draw the winner first! Then you can read that note.” A roar of agreement rose from the gathering.

  Mr. Vance looked at the crowd with wide-eyed shock. The man’s unruly behavior, followed by the hooting and hollering of the crowd, had obviously unnerved the dance instructor. Without hesitating, he stepped up to the urn, sifted through it with his hand, and removed a ticket. He held it close to his nose. Each ticket bore a name on one side and a number on the other. “The winning number is—”

  “Just read the name,” a man shouted.

  Mr. Vance turned the ticket over. “The winner is Henry Walters.”

  A mill manager had won. “He don’t need the money!” a young man called out.

  A host of others shouted their disapproval, until Mr. Vance called for quiet. When the crowd finally settled, he unfolded the letter. “I’m now going to read the note, and I would appreciate your attention.” Coughs, the shuffling of feet, and loud sighs emanated from the crowd while he read a lengthy message regarding the benefits that would be derived from the lottery. While nothing specific was mentioned, the note assured that the funds would be used for the betterment of the community. “I think a large round of applause is due Mrs. Stark for her efforts.”

  As the applause quieted, Mellie leaned toward Morgan. “Do you think Mrs. Stark wrote that speech?” Before he could answer, she continued, “I wonder why we weren’t told exactly what the money would be used for.”

  Clara edged close to Mellie. “It makes me wonder, as well. If I was raising mo
ney for a charity, I’d want folks to know who was going to benefit.” She arched her brows. “Wouldn’t you, Morgan?”

  His lips tightened into a thin line. “Yes, I would. I plan to make some inquiries and see if I can find out how the funds will be used. I’m sure there are others who will be seeking answers, too.”

  Mellie grasped his arm. “Perhaps this is something else that should be mentioned when we attend the town meeting to protest further lotteries. If they won’t agree to halt these lotteries, we should insist upon oversight of the funds.” She exhaled a long breath. “Surely Mrs. Stark plans to give a full accounting of how the money will be spent. No doubt she’ll want residents of the town to know. After all, the Stark family doesn’t need lottery proceeds to maintain their way of life.”

  Soon the ballroom filled with couples again, who swirled around them as Morgan danced with her. What was wrong with him? He’d been acting odd ever since the lottery drawing. Was there something he hadn’t told her? Did he believe the drawing had been rigged? Was he ill? He’d visibly paled during the drawing. Even if the drawing had been manipulated, he’d have no way of knowing. Something was wrong. And why was he suddenly asking her to trust him?

  Trust. It had never come easily to her, especially when something didn’t feel right. Perhaps she was being ridiculous. Since learning of her brother-in-law’s deception, it seemed she’d seen deceit in everyone. She looked into Morgan’s clear blue eyes. Did she, like Cora, see the love in them?

  Pushing such thoughts aside, Mellie determined to simply soak up the evening. Before long she forgot about lotteries, charity funds, the mills, the Starks, everything but Morgan and this moment. She caught sight of their dancing shadows on the wall—a perfect silhouette—and smiled.

  She trusted Morgan. Perhaps she even loved him. She was not going to let her ridiculous suspicions ruin this magical night.

  Chapter