How different life might have been if only Lowell could have remained unchanged. How different her life might have been if only Matthew had remained unchanged, as well. Lilly tried to dispel the memory of the only man she’d ever loved. He was her enemy now—as clearly as the others who had marred her beautiful East Chelmsford with their monstrosities of brick and iron. Even worse, they had renamed it Lowell! She shuddered at the thought.

“Progressive industry,” Matthew had called it, pleading with her to understand. “It will be to the betterment of everyone concerned,” he’d promised. But it hadn’t been to her betterment—nor to her father’s.

The sun was beginning its ascent into the gray eastern sky as Lilly crossed into the mill yard by the only open gate, the one that would permit her entry into the fiefdom of the Corporation, a fiefdom that had been carefully planned and cultivated by a group of Bostonians, now referred to by the locals as the Boston Associates or the lords of the loom. Powerful men—men with money, connections, and an unrelenting passion for the creation of the mill town they had named after their visionary, Francis Cabot Lowell. These same men had given special attention to every detail, completing their architectural wonders with moats, fortified walls, drawbridges, and serfs—many, many serfs.

Step by step, Lilly moved farther into the mill yard, her attention now drawn toward the dull, rumbling noise seeping through the thick brick walls of the taller buildings that formed the outer perimeter of the fortress. She had never noticed the sound before, but she had never been this close to the mills before, either. The reverberating din seemed to be pounding out a message of doom.

Despite a chill in the morning air, a rivulet of perspiration trickled down the small of her back. Swallowing hard to gain control of the bile that now rose in her throat, Lilly paused momentarily to deposit her bags before entering the building. There was no sense in dragging them along with her, especially since she was already exhausted from carrying them all this way.

She took a deep breath and smoothed down the pleats of her bodice. Her gown wasn’t very fashionable or stylish, but she couldn’t imagine that would matter to the men inside. Squaring her shoulders, Lilly knew the moment of truth had arrived. She had to go through with her plan. She had to see this through, no matter how distasteful.

A middle-aged man was perched at a desk near the doorway; probably a clerk or bookkeeper, she decided. He looked up from his papers, gave her an agitated glance, and nodded toward a single chair near his desk. With her fingernails biting into the flesh of her palms, she seated herself and waited while the clerk continued writing in his ledger.

What would Father think if he could see me in this place? She pictured him cupping large worn hands to his mouth, calling out from the gates of heaven and warning her against such folly, shouting that she didn’t belong among these evil men who had lied to him, breaking his heart with their wicked schemes.

Lilly watched as the clerk laid down his pen and scratched his balding head before giving her his attention. “Applying for a position, I presume?”

Lilly forced herself to look him in the eyes—brown, wide-set, beady-looking eyes that sent a dark message. “Yes.” It was all she could manage. Her heart raced in a maddening staccato. It seemed to beat out the words You fool! You fool! You fool!

In a slow, lingering manner, the man let his gaze travel the full length of her body. “How old are you, girl?”

Lilly knew her slender figure and petite frame often caused people to believe her years younger than her actual age. “I’m twenty,” she said, straightening her shoulders. She wished silently that she’d pinned her hair up instead of leaving it in a single braid down her back. Then, too, her bonnet was at least five years old and much too childish for a young woman.

“Twenty, eh?” The man looked as if he didn’t believe her.

“Yes, I’m twenty.” Lilly stood her ground, offering nothing more.

The man gave a harrumphing sound, then shook his head. “We have no openings. Did one of the boardinghouse keepers send you?” he asked, glancing about the room while giving her a smirk that revealed uneven yellowing teeth.

“I’m applying for a position as a weaver or perhaps a drawing-in girl. My name is Lilly Armbruster, and I think if you’ll check with Mr. Boott or Mr. Appleton, there may be a position available for me.” Her confidence swelled. She would not let this man deter her.

His lips curled into a mocking sneer, his beady eyes now narrow slits in a too-thin face. “Well, since Mr. Boott and Mr. Appleton aren’t in the immediate vicinity, why don’t you tell me why you think one of them would be willing to create a position especially for you, Miss Armbruster?”

She struggled to maintain her decorum, wanting to reveal neither her fear of this leering man nor her abhorrence for seeking employment in one of the mills. “Mr. Boott attended my father’s funeral last week. While at the cemetery, he told me there would always be work at the mills for our family.” She paused, giving him what she hoped was a look of complete innocence. “Do you think he was insincere, merely making consoling remarks to a bereaved family?” she asked, intoning concern.

The clerk shifted in his chair and shoved a bony finger under the soiled collar of his dingy white shirt. Exhaling deeply, he shoved his chair away from the desk and excused himself. Lilly watched as he scurried off and whispered in the ear of an older man across the room. Wagging his head first in one direction and then the other, he occasionally stole a glance at her from under hooded eyelids, his appraisal making Lilly feel somewhat less than human. Finally, the older man turned back to his work, obviously bringing the conversation to an end.

The clerk returned to the desk and settled into his chair. “Mr. Nettles tells me there will soon be an opening in the spinning room and you can begin a week from now. Come with the others at the first bell. Report to me, and I’ll take you to your assignment. I’m also to tell you that there’s an opening at Adelaide Beecher’s boardinghouse, number 5 Jackson Street. Mr. Nettles has sent one of the doffers to advise Miss Beecher of your arrival. She’ll be expecting you.”

His smug look had vanished. “And your name, sir?” Lilly inquired, putting her innocent act aside.

“Arnold. Thaddeus Arnold. I’ll have your contract ready for signature when you arrive next Monday.”

“Thank you, Mr. Arnold.” She lingered for a moment, watching as he took up his pen and went back to his ledgers. “Good day, Mr. Arnold, and again, my thanks for your kind attention.” When his head snapped up to meet her eyes, she knew she had failed to keep the bite of sarcasm from her reply.

“It’s not wise to make enemies of those in authority, Miss Armbruster.” His thin lips barely moved as he hissed the words across the desk at her.