Free The Daring Ladies of Lowell by Kate Alcott Page B

softened, although clouds still covered the stars tonight, but Alice and Lovey, bundled up, sat out on the front steps in companionable silence.
    “They invited you,” Lovey finally said softly. “They invited you, like a guest.”
    “Not like a guest, it’s different.”
    “But you’ll sit at their table and eat from their china plates, and you won’t have to reach for food. There will be maids standing by, asking if you need anything, anything at all, and their job is to get it for you.” Her voice was dreamy. “You know something? No one would ever invite me.”
    “That’s—”
    “Hush, Alice. You know it’s true. It wouldn’t matter what I do, I wouldn’t be respectable enough.”
    “They would be wrong.”
    “You really are my friend, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question.
    “Yes, I am. And I want to help you. Lovey, where do you go when you’re out late at night?”
    Silence. Alice could hear someone in the parlor pumping away on the old piano, some tune she didn’t recognize, but there was clapping and laughter, mixed with the clatter of dishes being washed coming from the kitchen. Above their heads on the porch, tucked away in the eaves, a motionless robin huddled over her eggs, now used to the comings and goings of the boardinghouse. Everything was normal, but not the silence from Lovey.
    “I don’t think friends should be burdened with problems other than their own,” Lovey finally said.
    “I suppose that’s true if you don’t trust your friends.” She couldn’t help the barb. And yes, she was frustrated.
    “I respect
your
secrets, Alice. I don’t have to know all of them. I’m asking no questions.”
    Alice started to speak, but Lovey put her finger to her friend’s lips. “The thing is, I’ve got to help myself,” she said. “I have to do that first.”
    “What could be braver than hiding that child today from that awful man?”
    Even in the darkness, Alice could see Lovey’s faint smile. “Oh, I’m good at that sort of thing. I’m just not that good at figuring out consequences.”
    “And that’s what you’re going to leave me with?”
    “For now.” Lovey’s voice was gentle. “For now.” She reached out a hand as Alice started to rise. “Please don’t be cross. I’ll tell you everything when you come back from Boston, but I have to do something first. I promise.”
    Alice sighed. “Soon?” she said.
    “Soon.”

CHAPTER SIX

    L ovey was halfway up the dimly lit stairway that led to the top floor of the mill, balancing somewhat precariously on the narrow step, bouncing impatiently on her toes. She gestured to Alice. “Come on,” she urged. “We only have half an hour.”
    Alice hesitated a fraction of a second before following her up. She had never seen the top floor. She glanced quickly as they passed the third landing, where the roving, spinning, dressing, warping, and drawing in were done, wishing she could watch for a while. But Lovey kept climbing, and then there they were, standing in a strangely quiet room. Women sat on benches with cloth before them, weaving in patterns. “It’s left thread to harness one and right thread to harness two, and you bloody well have to concentrate, because you can’t let them cross or the pattern will be ruined,” Lovey whispered.
    Alice watched, fascinated. The pattern weavers were the most-skilled mill workers of all. They wove the highly prized calico cloth, which was not, as Lovey had taken pains to tell her, the cheap coarse muslin the English called calico. The weavers here were creating densely intricate patterns of vines and branches in indigo blue woven through with graceful curls of white. She and Lovey shouldn’t be here, this was a secret process; it was strictly off-limits. The Fiskes had no intention of allowing a competitor to steal their procedures. But here she was, feeling some envy. How quickly and deftly these women worked. What beautiful patterns they were creating. Could she ever be good