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Ash
Daddies of the Shadows Book 2
Kate Oliver
 This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
organizations, places, events, and incidents are
either a product of the author’s imagination or are
used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons,
living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or
locales is entirely coincidental.

Written by: Kate Oliver

Edited by: Kate Oliver and Rose Chaplan
Cover designed by: Get Covers

Copyright © 2022 Kate Oliver

“ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains

material protected under International and Federal
Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized
reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part
of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any
form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,
including photocopying, recording, or by any
information storage and retrieval system without
express written permission from the
author/publisher.”
 Prologue – 14 years ago
Ash looked around the room, feeling each one’s helplessness and
guilt, and he could feel the tension growing.
“Boys,” Pop said roughly, “I know how much you all loved Celeste.
We’re family, no matter what blood runs through our veins. We have
to stick together.” He turned to leave the room. “We will honor
Celeste’s memory forever.”
After several minutes, Angel broke the deafening silence.
“We are going to kill each of them. One by one.”
Beau cleared his throat, “I’m in.”
“Me too,” Knox declared.
“We kill every single one,” Wolf stated. “We wipe them off the
fucking planet.”
Hawk leaned forward and nodded, “Count me in.”
“I’m in,” Ash said.
“Me too,” Colt and Maddox added at the same time.
Angel nodded. “We need to stay under the radar, work in the
darkness of the shadows, and be invisible. We’ll hit each one when
they’re least expecting it, and we make it painful. Just like they did
to Celeste.”
The boys stayed up all night that night making plans – plans to
kill each one of the most dangerous gangsters in the state of
Washington, the ones who had deprived them of the sister they had
all loved. And they all knew that they would enjoy every minute of it
because inside each one of them, there was a darkness that was
ready to be unleashed. A darkness that stayed in the shadows until
it was time to come out and play.
 Chapter 1

Kylie
Another date from an online dating site. When had trying to
find a relationship come to this? Where had the days gone when
people fell in love with their high school sweethearts and lived
happily ever after?
Pffh.
Yeah, right.
Like that was even possible, considering the only person Kylie
had ever lusted after in high school had been the biggest bad boy in
the entire school, who didn’t even know she existed.
Okay, that wasn’t entirely true.
He knew she existed. Since she had been in some advanced
classes, they’d had chemistry together and had sat at the same table
in that class for the entire year. Also, there was the one and only
time when she was a sophomore that she had gone to a high school
graduation party by herself where a drunk senior had tried getting
too handsy, and the notorious bad boy had pulled the guy off of her.
Then said bad boy had driven her home and threatened to spank
her if he ever saw her at a party by herself again taking drinks from
strangers or putting herself in any kind of dangerous situation, for
that matter. That had been the last time she had seen Ash Russell.
In person anyway.
Even before Ash had threatened to spank her, Kylie had
already heard rumors around school that he liked the girls that he
dated to call him Daddy, and he had a thing for putting them over
his lap and spanking them. She hadn’t believed those rumors, of
course… Not until that fateful night that he actually threatened to
spank her.
Even though she had been a sophomore at the time and he a
senior, she knew well enough that being spanked by Ash was
something that had frightened her but also stirred some new and
hidden part of her to life. Something that she hadn’t stopped
thinking about for the past sixteen years.
Which brought her to her current situation. She was getting
ready for a date with a potential Daddy that she’d met on a BDSM
dating website. As much as she wished she was more excited about
it, she just wasn’t. The man she was meeting, Ted, seemed nice. He
had a good job as a tax accountant, and he owned his own home.
Both of those things were huge pluses when it came to meeting a
man online.
Ted was eight years older than Kylie, with no kids or pets.
From the photos that she’d seen of him, he was attractive in a cute
dorky sweater vest kind of way. Ted had told her that he had been a
Daddy for over fifteen years but hadn’t had a Little of his own for
the past two years after his now ex-wife left him for another man.
Kylie stood in front of her closet, staring at the row of
clothes. She was having a hard time deciding if she should wear a
dress or not. They had made plans to meet at a restaurant to talk
over dinner, and then Ted had suggested that they could go to
Shadows for a drink afterward.
He said that Shadows was a nightclub, but Daddies and
Littles were known to frequent there when they didn’t feel like going
to The Playground, which she’d learned from him was a BDSM club.
She had agreed, mostly because she had always been curious about
Shadows but had never had the guts to go. After learning about The
Playground, she was curious about the idea of going to such a place
where people could be completely open about who they were. But
she guessed that a BDSM club wasn’t a good idea for a first date. It
might give the wrong impression.
Deciding to go with a dress, Kylie pulled one from the hanger
and held it up in front of her petite frame as she looked in the
mirror. Not really loving the dress but also not caring all that much,
she pulled off the oversized t-shirt she had been wearing since she
had gotten out of the shower and began to dress.
The simple black dress had spaghetti straps and hugged her
body down to where it landed mid-thigh. It was tight enough to
show off the slight curves of her body but big enough not to feel like
a sausage casing. Pressing her boobs together with the palm of her
hands, Kylie tried to make it appear as though she had a bigger
chest than she actually did
Whatever. Work with what your mama gave you, Kylie.
Rolling her eyes at the thought, Kylie stared at herself in the
mirror and fidgeted. How could she work with something that was
practically non-existent?
Okay, that wasn’t entirely true.
Her breasts had filled out after high school, but they still
weren’t as big as she wanted them to be. She was always so jealous
of all the women with lush curves, round bottoms, and full breasts.
But that just hadn’t been in the cards for her, so she knew that
sulking about it wouldn’t get her anywhere.
She thought it was strange that she didn’t feel nervous about
the evening ahead. Most people got nervous before first dates,
didn’t they? Like sweaty palms and all of that? Kylie had none of it.
Not even really any excitement either. Partially because even though
Ted seemed like a very nice man, maybe even a little too nice in her
opinion, he was also as dull as a rock. Nothing about him screamed
“Daddy” to her, and that was just disappointing.
However, since the dating pool mostly seemed to be full of
frogs, Kylie knew she needed to dip her toe in somewhere if she
were ever going to find a prince, even if he was so boring that she’d
fallen asleep while on the phone with him - not once, but twice.
Besides, boring meant safe. Her father had been a smooth-talking
bad boy and ended up being a piece of crap man who had
constantly cheated on her mom. Yeah, boring and safe were better.
Sliding on a pair of black wedge sandals, Kylie grabbed her
small handbag and left for the restaurant. It was a gorgeous evening
in July, and the weather in Seattle had been perfect for the past few
weeks. She’d been able to wear dresses pretty much non-stop,
which always made her happy. Because seriously, who wanted to
wear jeans when they could wear a dress? She just hoped that by
wearing a dress, Mr. Dull and boring didn’t get the wrong idea about
her and think that she would want to sleep with him.
 Who was she kidding… She would probably have to initiate
anything with him because he was so dang nice.
Ugh. What the hell had she gotten herself into?
When she pulled up to the restaurant, Kylie sat in her car
and pulled out her phone. There were two text messages, one from
her mom and one from Ted. Opening the message from her mom
first, Kylie smiled.
Mom: Good luck on your date tonight! Let’s have coffee
soon so you can fill me in. Love you.
Closing her mom’s text and opening the text from Ted, she
groaned and rolled her eyes, then felt a rush of relief.
Ted: Something came up, and I’ll have to reschedule. I’m
sorry for the late notice. I’ll make it up to you.
She was annoyed that he canceled last second. Seriously,
what could come up for a tax accountant that was so urgent? But at
the same time, she was relieved. She hadn’t been looking forward to
this date. And if she wasn’t looking forward to it, then why had she
even agreed to it?
Because you are tired of being single, and you want a Daddy.
Well, there was that.
But she was also disappointed because she had been going
to get to go to Shadows for the first time, and now she wasn’t. It
was sad that going to the club was what she had been looking
forward to the most.
Looking out of her windshield, Kylie stared at the large brick
building with the sign “Shadows” on it. They had planned on walking
to the club after dinner, which had been why they had chosen the
restaurant that was only half a block up the street.
Slumping back into her seat, Kylie felt the urge to have a
small tantrum. Not that it would do her any good but pouting about
it and maybe a foot stomp or two might make her feel better.
Or you could just go to the club by yourself since you are an
actual grown adult.
Staring at the brick building, Kylie thought about it. She could
go to the club by herself. She was an adult and could come and go
as she pleased. It wasn’t like she had to stay if she didn’t like it.
Sure, she would be there by herself and not have any friends
around, but surely other people went to clubs by themselves.
Mind made up, Kylie grabbed her purse and climbed out of
her car, making the short walk up the block to stand in front of
Shadows. It was just after eight in the evening, and there was
already a buzz of people making their way into the club. She took a
deep breath and walked toward the door where a large muscular
man was checking IDs. Pulling hers from her purse, Kylie handed it
to the man, who looked at the ID and back at her several times.
“You’re sure this is a legit ID? You don’t even look twenty-
one, let alone thirty-two,” the bouncer said.
Kylie smiled up at him, “Yep, I’m sure. I graduated high
school in two-thousand-eight and then went to college at Oregon
State. I’ve been a jewelry designer ever since. Here’s my card if
you’d like to look at some of my work. Maybe your wife or girlfriend
would like something.”
Shut up, Kylie. Damn.
The man gave her an incredulous look, then looked at her ID
one more time before handing it back to her and opening the door
to allow her in. Before she walked through the entrance, she quickly
slid her business card into the bouncer’s shirt pocket and hurried
inside before he could give it back to her.
She was immediately surrounded by people who were
dancing and talking loudly over the music. The place was packed.
Kylie tried to look around the club to take it all in, but with the
number of people swarming around her, she couldn’t see past them.
Slipping through the crowd, she eventually made her way up
to the long bar and waited until she was able to put in an order with
the handsome bartender.
“What can I get you, doll?” he asked with a panty-dropping
smile.
Damn. He was cute, and he was staring at her like she was
the dessert that he’d been waiting for. But he was also working for
tips, so she knew better than to think he was flirting with her.
“Can I get a lemon drop martini and a lemon drop shot,
please?” she yelled out.
 He nodded and began making her drinks while at the same
time watching her with a look of interest on his face.
“This your first time here?” he asked over the music.
Oh great. Totally obvious.
Kylie nodded and offered him a shy smile. He smiled back
and placed her drinks on the bar.
“I’m Cody. If anyone gives you trouble or you feel unsafe for
any reason, order an Angel Shot. It’s our code drink here that you
need help. You can order it from any waitress or bartender, and we’ll
take care of you. Don’t leave your drinks unattended, and don’t let
anyone else bring you a drink unless you know them and feel safe
with them. Otherwise, have fun!”
Kylie nodded and smiled, though her mind was racing. Why
would she feel unsafe? Why couldn’t someone bring her a drink?
Maybe she was in over her head by coming alone. It wasn’t like she
frequented clubs, and other than the senior graduation party that
she’d gone to in high school, she really hadn’t been a party girl. The
only times she had ever been to an actual nightclub had been during
a girls’ night out with her friends when they were in their twenties
and once for one of her close friends’ bachelorette parties where
she’d won a huge suction cup dildo that she still had buried in one of
her drawers somewhere. Yeah, she really needed to get rid of that
thing. It was terrifyingly big.
Finding an open stool at the end of the bar, Kylie climbed
onto it and turned to watch all the people on the dance floor while
she sipped her martini. About halfway through her drink, she
knocked back the lemon drop shot in one gulp and indicated to the
bartender for another as she continued to people watch.
It was interesting watching couples interact. There were a
few that she was almost sure could be a Daddy and a Little just by
their body language. But there were also a lot of normal-looking
couples dancing and drinking. For all Kylie knew, the normal-looking
couples, whatever that meant, could have also been Daddies and
Littles.
When she was four shots and two drinks in, Kylie realized
that her mouth was numb.
 Holy shit, she was drunk.
Giggling, she tried to remember the last time that she had
been drunk, and for the life of her, she couldn’t remember. But it felt
good, and her anxiety of being at Shadows by herself was long
gone.
“How ya doin’, doll?” Cody asked.
Kylie giggled and nodded, “Good! Can I have another
martini?”
Raising his eyebrow, Cody smiled down at her.
“One more, and then you’re cut off, little lady.”
Nodding her head, she gave him a thumbs up.
“Thanks, Cody! I’m going to go to the bathroom, and I’ll be
right back,” she shouted over the music.
The bartender nodded and got to work making her drink as
she tried to climb down from the stool as delicately as she could.
Yeah, right. Like that was even possible.
Somehow, her foot got stuck, and before she realized it, she
was falling from the stool. It felt like slow motion, yet she couldn’t
stop it. She was airborne, and as she braced herself to land on the
floor, she gasped when instead, she landed in a pair of thick,
muscular, tattooed arms.
Opening her eyes, Kylie sucked in a breath and then began
to giggle hysterically as she stared up at her rescuer.
 Chapter 2

Ash
Ash opened his front door to find his brothers, Hawk and
Angel, standing on his doorstep.
“Come on, asshole, let’s go,” Hawk said gruffly.
Rolling his eyes, Ash grabbed his leather jacket from the coat
rack and his keys from the entryway table and stepped out of the
house. It was warm enough that he didn’t put the jacket on, but it
would cool down later in the evening.
It was Saturday night, and they were heading to Shadows,
the nightclub that their brother Maddox owned. They went most
Saturday nights, and this weekend, Ash was hoping to find an
unaccompanied Little in the club to play Daddy to for the night.
Even though he wasn’t a long-term kind of guy, seeing his
brother Knox with his new woman who was also a Little had been
making Ash ache for that kind of connection. Only for one night,
though. That was all he could commit to. It was all he wanted. And
it had been months since he’d been with anyone, for reasons that he
didn’t even know.
His dry streak needed to come to an end, and he hoped to
end the night balls deep inside an adorable woman who would call
him Daddy and let him completely dominate her in bed.
It wouldn’t be the same as what Knox had with Addie, and if
Ash were honest with himself, seeing the connection that they had
made him feel a little bit jealous, but he knew that kind of
relationship just wasn’t for him.
Ash, Hawk, and Angel climbed into his burgundy 1969 Dodge
Charger and headed toward the club. The rest of his brothers would
meet them there. Well, all of them except for Knox, who was
skipping out on going to the club so he could spend time with Addie.
She was turning his brother soft. But he didn’t mind. Addie was
adorable, and she seemed perfect for Knox.
“You assholes are finding your own ride home tonight,” Ash
said as he drove.
Hawk laughed and nodded, knowing what Ash was implying.
They were all single, except for Knox, and because of the way they
all lived their lives, they kept it that way. A couple of his brothers
had ongoing casual relationships at times, but Ash didn’t like to have
anything more than just one night with a woman.
“Damn, always ditching us for something cuter,” Angel said
with a smirk.
Ash flipped him off and grinned.
“Until you’re wearing pigtails and calling me Daddy, you’re
damn straight,” Ash replied.
Angel grimaced, “I’d rather fucking die.”
They all burst out laughing at the image of big, tattooed
Angel wearing a dress with his hair in pigtails. Ash loved that they
could all tease each other the way that they did. The men he called
his brothers were his best friends, and he would do anything for
them. It was a connection that he knew was rare, even with blood
siblings.
“Honestly, seeing Knox with Addie is making me question my
decision to be single,” Hawk said.
Looking over at him, Ash studied his brother. Hawk was only
a year older than Ash but years wiser. Hawk was more serious and
much more reserved.
“You’re going soft on me, brother? What the fuck?” Ash
asked.
Hawk shrugged, “I’m just saying. Seeing how much Addie
adores Knox and looks at him like he hung the moon and stars for
her and how happy Knox seems now, it’s giving me second
thoughts. Making me realize that I’m lonely.”
Looking at Angel through the rearview mirror, Ash could see
that Angel was just as surprised by Hawk’s statement as he was.
Ash drove through the streets of Seattle, looking out at the
city he loved, thinking about what Hawk had said. His brother wasn’t
wrong. Knox was incredibly happy, and Addie was the sweetest
addition to their family. He knew there was a big difference between
a woman calling him Daddy while he was fucking her and a Little
calling him Daddy while he was taking care of her. And for some
reason, the vision of him taking care of a Little filled his mind and
gave him a warm feeling inside.
Don’t even start thinking about shit like that.
After parking his car in one of the VIP parking spots that
were in the front of the club just for him and his brothers’ classic
cars, Ash, Hawk, and Angel nodded to the bouncer as they walked
into the club.
It was nearly nine, and the club was already packed. The
men made their way toward their usual table, where Colt and Wolf
were already sitting. Wolf stood and grinned at them, slapping each
man on the back as he hugged them.
“Beau and Maddox are on their way,” Wolf said.
Nodding his head, Ash surveyed the club, searching for one
of the single Littles who he’d hooked up with before. It would make
it easier if he ran into someone he knew. Someone who knew what
to expect from him and wouldn’t make it awkward when it was over.
Ash and his brothers were all tall, muscular men with tattoos.
He knew they were all intimidating, which came in handy when they
had a job to do but when they are trying to meet an innocent Little
to play with, their scariness could sometimes create challenges.
Sure, they always had women flocking to them when they were at
the club, but they weren’t usually the type of women that they
wanted.
Looking back at his brothers, Ash chuckled when he saw that
there were already two women standing next to Wolf and Hawk,
trying to chat them up. Both of the men looked completely
uninterested as they stared off into the crowd, ignoring the women
who were practically pushing their tits out toward the men.
“I’m going to get us some beers,” Ash mumbled, walking
away from the table.
Making his way through the crowd, he nodded toward people
that he knew as regulars at Shadows. The place was a nightclub that
was open to the public, but since Ash and his brothers were all
Daddies, when Maddox had opened the club, they had all started
inviting other people that they knew to be into the lifestyle. It was a
chill place to hang out that wasn’t a full-on adult club.
BDSM clubs were a great place to go when you’re in a certain
mood, but sometimes it was just nice to be able to hang out with
like-minded people in a vanilla setting while understanding each
other’s dynamics.
As Ash got closer to the bar, he noticed a woman sitting on
one of the barstools by herself, talking to the bartender. Cody smiled
and nodded at the woman as she started to climb down from the
stool. Only instead of climbing down, her foot got caught up, and he
watched as she started falling to the ground. Ash rushed over and
wrapped one arm around her small waist.
Catching the woman in his arms, Ash looked down at her
with concern, and when she looked up at him, she burst out
giggling. The smell of vodka and citrus surrounded them and the
sudden thickening of his cock made him pull his head back in
surprise as he really looked at her.
Setting her to her feet, Ash held onto her hips until he knew
she was steady.
“Holy shit, I can’t believe it’s you!” she said, still giggling.
Tilting his head, Ash studied the woman again, trying to
figure out where he knew her from. Her big blue eyes looked
familiar, and as he took in the rest of her, his cock continued to
harden.
“Oh my gosh! I can’t believe Ash Russell just saved me from
falling on my ass. I was just thinking about you earlier!” she shouted
over the music.
Okay, now he was really confused. And really turned on. He
felt as though he knew her and her features made his mind flash
back to high school, but there was no way this was the same
person. No fucking way.
Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were glazed, and Ash
wondered how many drinks she’d already had.
 “Oh!” She said as she started giggling again, “You probably
don’t remember me. I look different. I’m Kylie Campbell. We went to
high school together. I was a total geek back then, and you were the
hot bad boy, so maybe you don’t even know who I am, but I know
youuuu!”
Yeah, she was drunk. And adorable.
Kylie Campbell.
Holy shit.
No fucking way.
The Kylie Campbell he had known in high school was a tiny
little thing that wore thick-rimmed glasses, had braces, and could
barely glance at him without blushing. This woman who stood in
front of him looked completely different. Her body had filled out, her
glasses were gone, and her teeth were perfectly straight.
He knew exactly who she was, and despite them being in the
same class for one year where she had barely spoken to him and
only having one encounter outside of that class… when he had
threatened to spank her… he had crushed on her for his entire junior
and senior year.
Get it together, asshole. You’re staring at her like a psycho.
“Kylie Campbell. Wow. You look beautiful, but you always did,
even back then,” he said into her ear.
Ash noticed a shiver coursed through her, and he felt a surge
of satisfaction over that. She might look different, but she was still
affected by him.
“Thank you,” she said, giggling.
“Who are you here with?” he asked.
She shook her head, “No one. I got stood up tonight, so I
came alone.”
Oh, hell no. Shadows, or any club for that matter, was not a
safe place for a woman to go alone. And she was drunk.
Every protective feeling in Ash’s body sprang to life, and
before he realized it, he grabbed her hand and was pulling her
toward their table.
“Wait, what are you doing? Where are we going?” she
slurred, practically tripping over her feet.
 “You’re not hanging out here alone. It’s not safe,” he
growled.
Ash stopped abruptly and turned toward her, making her
collide with his chest. Grabbing her hips to keep her standing, he
leaned down and hovered his mouth near her ear.
“What did I tell you would happen if I ever caught you
putting yourself into a dangerous situation again?” he growled.
Kylie gasped and stared up at him as he loomed over her
with his eyes narrowed. Sure, it had been over fifteen years since he
had made that threat, but dammit, seeing her there, drunk and by
herself, made his palm itch. If she were his little girl, she would have
a red bottom every night for a week and be grounded for twice as
long.
But she’s not, so chill the fuck out. You aren’t looking for
that.
“I… You can’t… What?” she stuttered.
Raising an eyebrow, Ash stared down at her with a stern
expression. Kylie went silent, and then she began giggling.
Oh, fuck him. She was drunk. He wouldn’t be able to reason
with her now. She would just giggle at him all night long as he
threatened to spank her.
Tugging on her hand again, he led her to the table where his
brothers were now all standing. The men stared at Ash which
shocked expressions. They weren’t used to him bringing a woman to
the table to meet them. He normally met the woman he was going
to hook up with and left the club. But Kylie was nothing more than
an old schoolmate. And he couldn’t very well leave her alone in the
club.
She’s a hell of a lot more than just an old schoolmate,
dumbass.
“Guys, this is Kylie. We went to school together. Kylie, these
are my brothers. You don’t need to know their names.”
She looked confused for a second before she started giggling
again. How was it that she was so adorable when she was giggling
about absolutely nothing?
Beau rolled his eyes and held out his hand.
 “Hey, Kylie. I’m Beau. We went to school together too. You
actually went to school with most of us.”
Kylie reached out and shook his hand, and for some reason,
Ash felt as though he wanted to growl at Beau. And when Beau
looked at Ash with a cocky ass grin, Ash wanted to pummel his
brother.
“Oh yeah, I remember you. And you’re Colt and Angel. Wow!
You guys have all changed a lot,” she said.
Beau and Angel grinned and nodded.
“Seems you have, too. Last I remember, you were just a
quiet little thing who was too shy to talk to anyone. Except for the
night you showed up at that graduation party by yourself and got
drunk,” Ash said with a scowl.
Looking up at him, Kylie grinned.
“Yeah, I grew out of my shyness in college.”
Raking his gaze over her body, Ash licked his lips and leaned
forward to whisper in her ear.
“But you’re still putting yourself in dangerous situations like
the naughty little girl that you are,” he said.
Another shiver ran through her, and her breath became
shallow as she leaned into his chest. She looked up at him with a
defiant expression.
“I’m not a naughty little girl.”
It sounded more like a question than a statement, making
Ash smirk.
Before he could respond, a server came to the table to take
drink orders. The men all ordered beers.
“I’d like a lemon drop martini, please! Cody was making one
before this guy dragged me over here,” she said.
That growly feeling came over him again.
“How the fuck do you know Cody?” he demanded.
Kylie looked up at him with wide eyes.
“I just met him tonight,” she said innocently.
Yeah, well, he was going to have to let the bartender know
to stay the fuck away from her. She was off-limits. And he couldn’t
figure out for the life of him why he felt that way.
 The server returned quickly with the drinks, and Ash took the
martini and held it out of Kylie’s reach.
“How many of these have you had tonight?” he asked.
What the hell was he doing? He wasn’t her Daddy. She could
drink as many drinks as she wanted. Except he didn’t like the idea of
that. He wanted to protect her. To keep her from going overboard.
To know that she wasn’t drinking so much that she would get sick.
Kylie reached for the drink, but he lifted it higher so she
couldn’t reach it. When she glared at him, put her hands on her
hips, and stomped her foot, Ash could barely contain his
amusement. His brothers also all seemed amused.
“Give me my drink,” she slurred.
“You’re already drunk, Kylie. Have you had any water since
you’ve been here?”
Her eyes told him that the answer to that was no.
“I’ll give you your drink after you drink a bottle of water,” he
said firmly.
Her mouth fell open, but she didn’t say anything as a bottle
of water was put in front of her by Wolf. Thank God for his brothers
having his back. They were all overprotective men - especially when
it came to women.
“You’re not nice!” she said as she opened the bottle of water
and started to drink it.
Yeah, well, nobody ever said Daddies were always nice.
Chapter 3
 Kylie
She was drunk. And in shock. Somehow she went from
falling off of a stool to standing at a table full of ridiculously large,
tattooed men, one of which had been her crush and the star of her
fantasies ever since high school. And he was being a big bossy
meanie head.
When Ash had caught her, she couldn’t believe it. Despite
being covered in tattoos now, his eyes were the same. Ash had the
kind of eyes that no one could ever forget. They were a mix of green
and hazel with flecks of gold, and against his olive skin, they were
mesmerizing. She had always loved his eyes, and she found herself
getting lost in them whenever he looked down at her.
Those eyes were also the reason she had started drinking
the bottle of water that was handed to her by the very large man
that Ash had called Wolf. Ash watched as she took several drinks,
and when she held the half-empty bottle up to show him her
progress, he nodded in approval.
“Drink the rest like a good girl,” he cooed.
Damn him.
So much for her dry panties.
Tipping the bottle back, she took several more drinks, his
eyes steady on hers the entire time. Taking the last sip, she held out
the empty bottle to him.
“Good girl. Here’s your drink. Drink it slowly,” he said.
Kylie took the glass from his hand and started sipping on it.
Ash’s brothers were having a conversation about the latest UFC
fight, but Ash’s attention was zeroed in on her, making her feel
squirmy.
“Where have you been since high school?” he asked.
Looking up at him, she nibbled her lip until she noticed that
he was looking at her mouth.
“I went to college in Oregon and lived down there up until a
couple of years ago. I moved back to Seattle to be close to my mom
again. I missed her and didn’t want her to be alone anymore after
what happened with my dad,” she said honestly.
Furrowing his eyebrow, Ash stared down at her.
“What happened to your dad?” he asked.
Kylie looked up at him, suddenly feeling vulnerable.
“He left the day after my graduation.”
Ash stepped closer to her and brushed a strand of hair away
from her face. Staring up at him, Kylie took in the tattoos on his
neck that disappeared under his shirt and reappeared again on one
of his biceps, running all the way down to his fingertips. He had
always been known as a bad boy in high school, and the tattoos just
added to that look. He could have been a model on the cover of one
of those motorcycle magazines.
Reaching out, she traced a line along one of the tattoos on
his arm. She was feeling a little braver than she normally would,
thanks to the drinks. Ash stared down at her, not stopping her from
touching, and when her hands moved to his chest, she inwardly
groaned as she felt his hard pecs and abs. The man was built like a
statue. A Greek God statue.
“I’m sorry he left,” he said.
“I’m not,” she said, tracing her fingers over his ab muscles.
Ash looked surprised by that response but was quickly
distracted when her finger began to trace lower. Seriously, what the
hell was she doing? She was not this kind of woman. But for some
reason, she couldn’t help herself. Ash grabbed her hand before it
reached the waistband of his jeans and gave her a stern look that
had her squeezing her thighs together.
“I heard something about you in high school,” she said with a
smile.
Raising an eyebrow, Ash smirked. The man was cocky as
hell, and she shouldn’t find it hot. But she did.
“Oh, yeah? What did you hear?” he asked.
They were standing so close together that no one else could
hear the conversation between them over the music playing in the
background.
 “I heard that you used to make your girlfriends call you
Daddy.”
Realizing she had actually just said that out loud, Kylie
slapped her hand over her mouth.
Shit!
She could be such a loudmouth sometimes - especially after
a few drinks. But it was something that she had wondered about,
even after all these years. That rumor and the threat of being
spanked were the reasons that Kylie had started looking into age
play in the first place.
Ash grinned. With his hand still wrapped around her wrist, he
pulled her against his chest. Leaning his head down, so his mouth
was close to her ear, he whispered.
“What you heard is correct, Kylie. I didn’t just make them call
me Daddy. I was their Daddy. I took care of them, protected them,
gave them rules and boundaries, and spanked their naughty bottoms
when they disobeyed me. Kind of like you disobeyed me tonight.”
Holy hell.
Her knees wouldn’t hold her up anymore, and Ash must have
felt her sag against him because before she realized it, she was lifted
from the ground with her legs wrapped around his waist and her
pussy pressing into his jeans.
“Easy there,” he said.
Damn. That deep voice of his and those hazel green eyes.
The two things combined, especially when directed at her… yeah,
they were panty-melting.
They stared at each other for a long moment, and Kylie felt
something flutter low in her belly. She needed to get a hold of
herself. She was drunk, and if she didn’t get it together, she was
going to be throwing herself at this man’s feet by the end of the
night.
She tried to wiggle free, but Ash held her tighter and shook
his head.
“No,” he growled.
“What do you mean no? Put me down.”
 He shook his head, “No. You’re obviously too buzzed to
stand, so I’ll carry you.”
Oh my gosh. The man was crazy. And hot. And she also
didn’t want to admit it, but it felt nice being in his muscular arms.
However, he was holding her like a child, and they were in a very
public place. Looking around to see if his brothers might have found
it weird that he picked her up, she realized that they weren’t even
looking in their direction. It was as though the two of them were in
their own little bubble.
“How about I drive you home since you’re obviously in no
shape to drive,” Ash said.
Kylie thought about that, unsure if letting him take her home
was a good idea. It had been over a year since she’d had sex, and
between the alcohol and his touch, her entire body felt like it was on
fire. What would he think of her if she wanted to have sex with him?
They really didn’t know each other.
“I’m not offering to take you home to sleep with you. I don’t
take advantage of drunk women. But you can’t drive, and I’m not
letting you take an Uber home,” he said firmly.
Nibbling on her bottom lip, she tried to hide her
disappointment. He didn’t want to have sex with her. He was just
being nice, which should have surprised her because he didn’t look
like a man who went out of his way to be nice.
Pushing herself away from him, Ash relented and set her
down on her feet.
“I’ll take an Uber. It’s fine. I take them all the time.”
Yeah, she was being a brat. He had specifically said he
wouldn’t let her take an Uber. But he made it obvious that he didn’t
want to sleep with her and her drunk brain wanted to stomp her foot
and stick her tongue out at him for that. So instead, she would have
a grown-up tantrum and disagree with him. That seemed totally
reasonable.
Crossing his arms over his thick chest, Ash gave her a stern
look.
“Little girl, you’re not taking an Uber. So let me be clear,
either I drive you home, and one of my brothers will drive your car
to your house, or one of my brothers drives you home, and I drive
your car to your house. But either way, I’m making sure you get
home safe tonight. You’re drunk, and the minute I found you over
there by the bar without someone with you to protect you, you
became my responsibility for the evening.”
Kylie scowled up at Ash, though she was pretty sure her
scowl wasn’t nearly as scary as the one that he was directing at her.
Why was she fighting it so much? He said he wasn’t taking her home
to sleep with her, but maybe once he got her home, she’d be able to
talk him into it. She knew Ash wasn’t a settle-down kind of man, but
she guessed that he would be an unforgettable lover. He had the
whole dominant thing down already, and she was pretty sure he
would be just as bossy in bed. And he admitted that he was a
Daddy, something she craved.
“Fine, but I don’t know why you think you can just boss me
around. I’m a grown woman,” she said shortly.
The corners of his eyes crinkled as his lips turned up into a
grin. Leaning forward until his face was only inches from hers, Ash
stared her straight in the eye.
“I’m not so sure about you being a grown woman. From
where I’m standing, all I see is a naughty little girl in front of me
who desperately needs her bottom spanked and then to be cuddled
to sleep afterward.”
Holy fuckapotamus.
Her damn knees. Grabbing onto his shirt to keep herself
steady, Kylie lowered her gaze from his. How was it that he was spot
on with his observation? But even if Ash was a Daddy, he wasn’t a
forever kind of guy. He was a bad boy, just like her dad had been.
And her dad had broken her mother’s heart over and over again.
Kylie couldn’t go through that. She needed someone safe like Ted.
Ash turned toward his brothers.
“I’m taking Kylie home. Can one of you drive her car to her
house on your way home?”
Kylie fished her keys out of her handbag, took her car key off
the ring, and handed it to Ash, who held out his hand expectantly.
Beau took the key from Ash, and she told him where her car was
parked and what it looked like.
“You can put the key under one of the pots on the porch,”
she told Beau.
Ash growled, “That better not be a regular hiding spot for
your keys, Kylie.”
Wow, who knew Ash could be so grouchy? She decided that
answering him might not be wise. Instead, she gave him an
innocent smile.
The men said their goodbyes to Ash, and then the large man
named Wolf walked around the table to where she was standing and
took her hand to shake it before pressing a light kiss to her knuckles.
Looking up at the monster of a man, Kylie smiled and then looked
toward Ash, who, for some reason, had a murderous look on his face
toward Wolf.
“It was nice to meet you, Kylie. Why don’t you come to
family dinner tomorrow night?” Wolf asked with a grin directed
toward Ash.
Blinking several times, Kylie tried to comprehend what was
happening, but she was feeling too fuzzy in her head, and when Ash
grabbed her hand and pulled her toward him, she waved goodbye to
the men.
“Why were you glaring at him?” she asked.
Ash looked down at her, his expression much softer now.
“Because my brothers are interfering assholes.”
She tried to keep up with him as he pulled her through the
club, but his long strides were no match for hers, causing her to trip
over her feet. Before she hit the ground, she was swooped up into
the air bridal style by Ash, making her giggle.
“You’ve got to stop saving me,” she said.
He smirked, “Then stop falling, little girl.”
Yeah, that was unlikely. Four lemon drop shots and numerous
lemon drop martinis… not going to happen. And considering the way
she felt in Ash’s arms, maybe falling wasn’t so bad.
Instead of fighting him, Kylie wrapped her arms around Ash’s
neck and held on as he carried her outside, not setting her down
until they were by his car. Holy moly, his car was a pristine classic
muscle car, and somehow, it fit Ash’s image perfectly.
She wondered how many women had ridden in the car when
he’d offered to drive them home. In high school, Ash had seemed to
have a new girlfriend all the time, so as an adult, she could only
imagine. Only… she didn’t want to imagine. She didn’t want to know.
Because right now, he was acting as though she was the only
woman on the planet, and it felt really nice.
“In you go,” he said, holding the door open for her.
Kylie climbed into the car, and before she could reach for the
seatbelt, Ash was looming over her as he pulled the belt over her
body and clicked it into place. His face was so close to hers that she
thought he was going to kiss her. And she wanted that. She wanted
it bad. His scent was enough to make her feel drunk. Although, that
could have also been the drinks she had. But the man smelled
edible, and she would bet that he tasted as good as he smelled.
After a few seconds of him staring into her eyes with his mouth only
inches from hers, he pulled away and closed the door.
Damn.
“What’s your address?” he asked when he climbed into the
car.
“Why?”
Ash gave her an incredulous look, and she didn’t know why.
She was just trying to catch her breath from the intoxicating
moment they’d just shared with his lips so close to hers, and he was
asking her for her address.
“Because I’m driving you home, so unless you’d like me to
take you home with me, I need your address.”
Oh duh.
Geez, Kylie, way to be an airhead.
She rattled off the address to her apartment and then sat
back in the seat and closed her eyes. Ash started the car, and a
strong vibration from the powerful motor practically had her
humming with pleasure.
Probably a bad idea to start grinding on the passenger seat
to try to get some relief from the arousal that the man next to her
had caused. Even though he said he wasn’t going to sleep with her,
that didn’t mean she wouldn’t be fantasizing about this night for the
rest of her life.
“What are you thinking about, short stuff?”
Cracking one eye open to look at him, Kylie wondered how
he knew she wasn’t sleeping. Ash reached over, rested his large
warm hand on her thigh, and glanced over at her for just a second
before returning his eyes to the road. If only he would inch that
hand a little higher.
“I was just thinking about high school. And that this night
has been weird.”
He nodded, “Yeah, tonight has been weird for sure. And
whoever the fuck stood you up is a dipshit and doesn’t deserve you.
Was it a first date?”
Why did he care?
“Yes.”
His thumb moved back and forth along her thigh, and she
found it soothing. He wasn’t trying to feel her up, he was just
touching her to touch her.
“Where’d you meet this idiot?”
Turning her head to really look at him, Kylie noticed that he
was clenching his jaw and had a scowl on his face.
“I met him online. What does it matter? He didn’t show.”
Whipping his head toward her, his hand tightened around her
thigh, and he glared at her before turning his attention back to the
road.
“Jesus, Kylie! Online? And you came to meet him alone? He
could be a serial killer for all you know.”
Glaring at Ash, Kylie pushed his hand off her thigh. He made
a disgruntled noise, and to her disappointment, he didn’t put it back
on her leg. Instead, he gripped the steering wheel with both hands.
“So could you! I’m not completely stupid. I googled the guy.
He’s a freaking accountant. I’m pretty sure he’s not a serial killer.”
Ash braked and brought the car to a complete stop in the
middle of the empty neighborhood road and turned to her.
 “Little girl, you do not meet men from the internet alone. It
isn’t safe. I don’t give a shit if it’s the fucking president of the United
States that you met online, you don’t go alone. Ever. Are. We.
Clear?” he growled.
Shit. Ash had gone from hot, playful, easy-going Daddy vibe
to protective, bossy, jerkface in the flip of a hat. And it was both
infuriating and arousing all in one.
Crossing her arms over her chest, Kylie sat back in the seat
and looked straight ahead.
“Take me home, Ash.”
He muttered something under his breath about her needing
a keeper and a damn hard spanking as he got the car moving again
toward her apartment.
Chapter 4
 Ash
Fucking Christ.
It wasn’t very often that Ash got angry. But he was livid and
had to resist the urge to drag Kylie out of his car and paddle her butt
right on the side of the road.
The thought of her meeting some stranger for a date in the
dress that she was wearing made him see red. She was tiny, with no
way to fight anyone off, let alone a man, and yet she went to meet a
guy all alone. Ash wanted to murder the guy, and he didn’t even
know him. Thank God the guy stood her up.
Christ. The woman needed a spanking. Even all these years
later, she was still putting herself in dangerous situations. He
shuddered at the thoughts of all the situations that she’d probably
put herself in between high school and now. He couldn’t think about
that for too long because otherwise, he was going to start having
heart problems.
Parking his car outside of her apartment, he got out and
went over to the passenger side, where she was already stumbling
out of the car. Grabbing her arm to keep her from falling, Ash helped
her up and then closed the door behind her.
“Which apartment?” he asked.
Kylie pointed straight ahead to the closest door as she pulled
her keys out of her handbag. She lived in a small complex of
duplexes where all of them looked exactly alike and were nothing
special, but she only had to share one wall, and parking wasn’t
overly crowded. The rent was also cheap, which was a plus,
especially living in Seattle.
Before she could say anything, he plucked the keys from her
fingers and started leading her toward the front door.
“Hey! I can let myself in, thank you very much.”
Ignoring her protest, Ash continued toward her apartment
and used the key that looked like a house key to unlock the
deadbolt. Without saying anything, he opened the front door and
waited for her to walk in first. But when she didn’t walk in, he looked
back and realized that she was still standing on the walkway up to
her apartment with her arms crossed over her chest.
Narrowing his eyes, Ash strode toward her.
“What are you doing? Get inside.”
Glaring up at him, Kylie huffed, “You do not get to just boss
me around all night. You’re being a big dumb… meanie head!”
Ash was glad it was dark out with only the security lights
around the complex illuminating the space around them because it
made it easier to conceal the amusement he was feeling.
“Little girl, get inside. It’s late, it’s dark, and based on your
attitude, it’s way past your bedtime,” he said sternly.
He was sure that the tone of his voice and the fact that he
was practically looming over her that she would start moving, but
instead… she looked up at him with the meanest glare he’d ever
seen and stuck her tongue out at him.
Oh, hell no.
Wrapping his large hand around her bicep, Ash pulled her so
her back was to his front, and he peppered her bottom with six
quick smacks.
“Hey!” she squealed, trying to block her bottom.
As soon as he finished, he pointed toward the apartment.
“You just spanked me! I can’t believe you did that. You’re so
mean,” she pouted, rubbing her bottom.
“That was merely a warning. Now march, little girl, otherwise
when we get inside, I’m going to pull the back of your dress up,
then pull your panties down and really spank your bottom.”
Kylie stared up at him in shock.
“One,” he said, holding up his index finger.
Apparently, she knew he meant business because she quickly
started walking up the walkway into her apartment. Ash followed her
in before she could shut the door in his face and locked the door
behind him.
“Go get your pajamas on,” he said firmly.
Kylie gaped at him, her mouth hanging slack and her wide
glazed eyes looking up at him. He smiled down at her, resisting the
urge to grab her by her hair and drag her to his chest so he could
kiss her.
“Go get your jammies on, little girl. Don’t make me say it
again.”
He expected her to flip out. To tell him to get the hell out of
her apartment. To call him names. But to his shock, she kicked off
her shoes, leaving them on the floor, and then walked toward what
he assumed was her bedroom door.
Looking around her apartment, he smiled when he noticed
several strands of twinkle lights strung in random places. The couch
had a bunch of colorful throw pillows on it, including a couple of
large squishmallow stuffies, and on the kitchen counter, he noticed a
sippy cup filled halfway with what looked like water.
Okay, she’s definitely a Little.
In high school, part of the crush that he had on her was
because she always gave him Little vibes. She had been so innocent
and shy. She always used cute glittery pens when she was doing
school work, and she had several tiny stuffed animals hanging off of
her pink backpack.
But between the question that she asked him tonight about
those rumors that she had heard, the way that she reacted to his
answer about that rumor, and now the way her apartment was
decorated, he was pretty sure his instinct was right. Yeah, she was
for sure a Little. And he could hardly wait to see her bedroom.
Several minutes passed, and Ash was starting to wonder if
she had locked herself in her bedroom, hoping that he would leave.
Yeah, that wasn’t happening.
He had no idea why he felt the urge to care for her, but he
did, and he also didn’t want to think too much about it either. She
was a friend who got a little too drunk and he was just going to
make sure she got to bed okay.
The click of the door latch brought his attention back, and
when she stepped out wearing a pair of pale-yellow shorts with
white lace trim and a matching yellow tank top, his mouth went dry.
She had washed off all of her makeup, reminding him of the Kylie he
knew in high school. Her eyes were still glazed over, and she looked
unsure of herself but she also looked utterly adorable. Like a
precious little girl.
“You’re still here,” she said softly.
He nodded, walking toward where she was standing near the
bedroom door. Ash reached out and brushed the hair away from her
face. He wanted to pick her up and carry her to bed and fuck her
until the only word she knew was Daddy. But he would never take
advantage of a drunk woman.
“After I get you tucked into bed, I’ll come out and sleep on
the couch in case you get sick during the night. Do you have
ibuprofen somewhere?”
She nodded and disappeared into her bedroom again, giving
him a moment to go to the kitchen to rinse out the sippy cup that
was sitting on the counter and refill it with fresh water. Walking back
to where she disappeared, he stepped into her bedroom and smiled.
Her room was a bit messy, but it was adorable. She had
twinkle lights strung all around the room, her dresser was painted
white with bright colored flower decals on the front, and her bed
was filled with so many stuffed animals that Ash wondered where
the hell she slept.
“I brought you some water,” he said.
Kylie screeched, and he heard a crashing sound coming from
the adjacent bathroom where he had heard her opening cupboards.
Striding toward the bathroom, he pushed the door wider and
stepped in.
“What happened? Are you hurt?”
She stared at him wide-eyed, her hand resting over her
heart.
“You scared me! I didn’t know you were in my bedroom.”
Stepping closer to her, he wrapped his arm around her and
pulled her into his chest. She was tiny compared to him. It was
adorable.
“Sorry, short stuff. I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said,
pressing a brief kiss to the top of her head.
He held out the sippy cup to her.
“I brought you some water to take your medicine.”
 Kylie eyed the cup, and he didn’t miss the blush rising from
her chest all the way up to her cheeks. The outgoing drunk Kylie
was suddenly shy and unsure of herself.
“I know you’re a Little, and you know I’m a Daddy, so you
don’t need to hide or be embarrassed,” he said.
Slowly, she reached out and took the cup, though she didn’t
immediately take a drink. Instead, she held it close to her and
moved toward the door to her bedroom.
“Thank you for driving me home, Ash. I’m gonna go to bed.
It was nice catching up with you.”
What?
Was she trying to push him out? Whatever it was that she
was doing, he didn’t like it. He wasn’t ready to leave. He wasn’t
ready to be away from her yet, not after all the time that had passed
since he’d last seen her.
“I’m not leaving. I didn’t bring you home to sleep with you,
but you got pretty drunk tonight, and I don’t want to leave you
alone. I’ll sleep on the couch, that way, if you need anything, I’ll just
be in the other room.”
Kylie gaped up at him for a long moment, and then she
started giggling. Those damn giggles. They warmed something
inside of him that he hadn’t even known was cold. It was infectious
and feminine and the sweetest sound.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
Kylie shook her head and ran her hands over her face.
“Only in my life would a man who also happened to be a
Daddy bring me home and tell me he didn’t want to fuck me. It
would be just my luck.”
Ash stared down at her, trying to control the urge to rip her
clothes off and show her just how badly he wanted to fuck her
senseless.
Is that what she really thought? That he didn’t want to fuck
her?
Striding over to her, he picked her up and moved toward her
bed, gently tossing her down. In the blink of an eye, he was looming
over her body with his hands resting on either side of her head. His
cock was hard, and he knew she could feel it pressing into her sex.
“You think I don’t want to fuck you? I’ve wanted to fuck you
since high school, but you were too good for me. Too pure and
sweet and special. Just like you are now. Way too fucking good for
me. You’re also drunk, and I’m not going to fuck you when you
won’t be able to remember every single filthy thing that I would do
to you.”
Her eyes widened, and her legs wrapped around his waist,
pulling his hips down further. She lifted her hips and ground herself
against his cock, making him groan. With every ounce of strength
that he had, Ash pulled himself away from her and stood. She was
his responsibility, even if just for the night, so he had to be the one
to put a stop to things before they went too far.
Kylie made a noise of protest and then stuck her bottom lip
out in a pout. Raising an eyebrow, Ash gave her a stern look.
“Put that lip away, little girl. Come on, take your medicine,
and then I’ll tuck you in.”
She let out a sigh, long and loud, and then sat up, grabbing
the pill bottle from the nightstand where she’d set it. He watched
her with amusement as she tried to unscrew the child-proof cap but
couldn’t. When she started banging the bottle against her hand in a
fit, he chuckled and reached his hand out. With a defeated sigh, she
put the bottle in his hand and crossed her arms over her chest.
Ash shook two pills out.
“I must have loosened it for you,” she pouted.
“Okay, babe. Whatever you say.”
Kylie rolled her eyes.
“Open,” he said.
Unfolding her arms, Kylie tried to take the medicine from
him, but he pulled back his hand and shook his head.
“I said open.”
She glared at him, but she opened her mouth, and before
she was able to reach for her sippy cup, he snatched it up and
pressed the spout to her lips. Something flashed across her face, a
sense of longing perhaps before she opened her mouth and started
drinking from the cup. Their eyes stayed locked on each other, and it
felt intimate. Clearly, they were experiencing something special
together. He didn’t know what exactly, but Ash knew that this little
girl in front of him wasn’t just a one-night-stand kind of girl. She was
a once-in-a-lifetime kind of woman.
“If you really want me to leave, I will. But I would feel much
better staying here, knowing I can keep an eye on you through the
night.”
Kylie released the spout from her mouth and sighed. She
looked tired and he really wanted to pick her up in his arms and rock
her to sleep.
Small steps. You’re probably not even her type.
“You can stay. I’m sorry for being difficult.”
Ash sat down on the bed, looking over at her to study her
face.
“You’re being a little girl. A very drunk little girl. But we are
going to have a serious talk in the morning when you’re sober about
you going on dates with strange men and going to clubs alone.”
Her shoulders dropped, and she rolled her eyes at him.
“Oh, goody. I can’t wait.”
“Kylie…” he said quietly.
“Ash, I’m a grown woman. What I do is really none of your
business. Hell, it wasn’t even your business back in high school.”
Resting his elbows on his knees, he studied his hands.
Everything she said was correct, but that didn’t mean he had to like
it.
“What if I want it to be my business?” he asked.
Kylie stared at him for a long time before she started
giggling.
“You’re Ash Russell. You’re the bad boy that every girl throws
themselves at, and you give them attention for like a day before you
move on to the next. I highly doubt after a day or two you would
give a shit what I was doing with my life, so let’s not even pretend
that you do now,” she said, matter-of-factly.
She was still drunk, but despite knowing that, those words
cut deep. Mostly because they weren’t wrong. Only for whatever
reason, he didn’t think he would ever get tired of Kylie. Something
about her called to him. Called to his Daddy side. And he didn’t want
to walk away from her.
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there used to be home from school, to get the first chance at the new
book!
It was as good as a fortune to us, and all for six and a quarter
cents a week! In this way I read the novels of Richardson, Madame
D’Arblay, Fielding, Smollett, Cooper, Scott, Captain Marryatt, and
many another old book not included in Mr. Ruskin’s list of “one
hundred good books.” Passing through the alembic of a child’s pure
mind, I am not now conscious that the reading of the doubtful ones
did me any lasting harm. But I should add that I do not advise such
indiscriminate reading among young people, and there is no need of
it, since now there are so many good books, easy of access, which
have not the faults of those I was obliged to read. Then, there was
no choice. To-day, the best of reading, for children and young
people, can be found everywhere.
“Lalla Rookh” was the first poem I ever read, and it awoke in me,
not only a love of poetry, but also a desire to try my own hand at
verse-making.
And so the process of education went on, and I, with many
another “little doffer,” had more than one chance to nibble at the root
of knowledge. I had been to school for three months in each year,
until I was about thirteen years old, when my mother, who was now a
little better able to do without my earnings, sent me to the Lowell
High School regularly for two years, adding her constant injunction,
“Improve your mind, try and be somebody.” There I was taught a little
of everything, including French and Latin; and I may say here that
my “little learning,” in French at least, proved “a dangerous thing,” as
I had reason to know some years later, when I tried to speak my
book-French in Paris, for it might as well have been Choctaw, when
used as a means of oral communication with the natives of that
fascinating city.
The Lowell high school, in about 1840, was kept in a wooden
building over a butcher’s shop, but soon afterwards the new high
school, still in use, was provided, and it was co-educational. How
well I remember some of the boys and girls, and I recall them with
pleasure if not with affection. I could name them now, and have
noted with pride their success in life. A few are so high above the
rest that one would be surprised to know that they received the
principal part of their school education in that little high school room
over the butcher’s shop.
I left the high school when fifteen years of age, my school
education completed; though after that I took private lessons in
German, drawing, and dancing! About this time my elder brother and
I made up our minds that our mother had worked hard long enough,
and we prevailed on her to give up keeping boarders. This she did,
and while she remained in Lowell we supported the home by our
earnings. I was obliged to have my breakfast before daylight in the
winter. My mother prepared it over night, and while I was cooking
and eating it I read such books as Stevens’s “Travels” in Yucatan
and in Mexico, Tasso’s “Jerusalem Delivered,” and “Lights and
Shadows of Scottish Life.” My elder brother was the clerk in the
counting-room of the Tremont Corporation, and the agent, Mr.
Charles L. Tilden,—whom I thank, wherever he may be,—allowed
him to carry home at night, or over Sunday, any book that might be
left on his (the agent’s) desk; by this means I read many a beloved
volume of poetry, late into the night and on Sunday. Longfellow, in
particular, I learned almost by heart, and so retentive is the young
memory that I can repeat, even now, whole poems.
I read and studied also at my work; and as this was done by the
job, or beam, if I chose to have a book in my lap, and glance at it at
intervals, or even write a bit, nothing was lost to the “corporation.”
Lucy Larcom, in her “New England Girlhood,” speaks of the
windows in the mill on whose sides were pasted newspaper
clippings, which she calls “window gems.” It was very common for
the spinners and weavers to do this, as they were not allowed to
read books openly in the mill; but they brought their favorite “pieces”
of poetry, hymns, and extracts, and pasted them up over their looms
or frames, so that they could glance at them, and commit them to
memory. We little girls were fond of reading these clippings, and no
doubt they were an incentive to our thoughts as well as to those of
the older girls, who went to “The Improvement Circle,” and wrote
compositions.
 A year or two after this I attempted poetry, and my verses began
to appear in the newspapers, in one or two Annuals, and later in The
Lowell Offering.
In 1846 I wrote some verses which were published in the Lowell
Journal, and these caused me to make the acquaintance of the sub-
editor of that paper, who afterwards became my life companion. I
speak of this here because, in my early married life, I found the exact
help that I needed for continued education,—the leisure to read good
books, sent to my husband for review, in the quiet of my secluded
home. For I had neither the gowns to wear nor the disposition to go
into society, and as my companion was not willing to go without me,
in the long evenings, when the children were in bed and I was busy
making “auld claes look amaist as good as new,” he read aloud to
me countless books on abstruse political and general subjects,
which I never should have thought of reading for myself.
These are the “books that have helped me.” In fact, of all the
books I have read, I remember but very few that have not helped
me. Thus I had the companionship of a mind more mature, wiser,
and less prone to unrealities than my own; and if it seems to the
reader that my story is that of one of the more fortunate ones among
the working-girls of my time, it is because of this needed help, which
I received almost at the beginning of my womanhood. And for this,
as well as for those early days of poverty and toil, I am devoutly and
reverently thankful.
The religious experience of a young person oftentimes forms a
large part of the early education or development; and mine is
peculiar, since I am one of the very few persons, in this country at
least, who have been excommunicated from a Protestant church.
And I cannot speak of this event without showing the strong
sectarian tendencies of the time.
As late as 1843-1845 Puritan orthodoxy still held sway over
nearly the whole of New England; and the gloomy doctrines of
Jonathan Edwards, now called his “philosophy,” held a mighty grasp
on the minds of the people, all other denominations being frowned
upon. The Episcopal church was considered “little better than the
Catholic,” and the Universalists and the Unitarians were treated with
even less tolerance by the “Evangelicals” than any sect outside
these denominations is treated to-day. The charge against the
Unitarians was that they did not believe all of the Bible, and that they
preached “mere morality rather than religion.”
My mother, who had sat under the preaching of the Rev. Paul
Dean, in Boston, had early drifted away from her hereditary church
and its beliefs; but she had always sent her children to the
Congregational church and Sunday-school, not wishing, perhaps, to
run the same risk for their souls that she was willing to take for her
own, thus keeping us on the “safe side,” as it was called, with regard
to our eternal salvation. Consequently, we were well taught in the
belief of a literal devil, in a lake of brimstone and fire, and in the
“wrath of a just God.”
The terrors of an imaginative child’s mind, into which these
monstrous doctrines were poured, can hardly be described, and their
lasting effect need not be dwelt upon. It was natural that young
people who had minds of their own should be attracted to the new
doctrine of a Father’s love, as well as to the ministers who preached
it; and thus in a short time the mill girls and boys made a large part
of the congregation of those “unbelieving” sects which had come to
disturb the “ancient solitary reign” of primitive New England
orthodoxy.
I used often to wish that I could go to the Episcopal Sunday-
school, because their little girls were not afraid of the devil, were
allowed to dance, and had so much nicer books in their Sunday-
school library. “Little Henry and his Bearer,” and “The Lady of the
Manor,” in which was the story of “The Beautiful Estelle,” were lent to
me; and the last-named was a delight and an inspiration. But the
little “orthodox” girls were not allowed to read even religious novels;
and one of my work-mates, whose name would surprise the reader,
and who afterwards outgrew such prejudices, took me to task for
buying a paper copy of Scott’s “Redgauntlet,” saying, “Why, Hattie,
do you not know that it is a novel?”
 We had frequent discussions among ourselves on the different
texts of the Bible, and debated such questions as, “Is it a sin to read
novels?” “Is it right to read secular books on Sunday?” or, “Is it
wicked to play cards or checkers?” By this it will be seen that we
were made more familiar with the form, than with the spirit or the
teaching, of Christianity.
In the spring of 1840 there was a great revival in Lowell, and
some of the little girls held prayer-meetings, after school, at each
other’s houses, and many of them “experienced religion.” I went
sometimes to these meetings, and one night, when I was walking
home by starlight, for the days were still short, one of the older girls
said to me, “Are you happy?” “Do you love Jesus?” “Do you want to
be saved?”—“Why, yes,” I answered. “Then you have experienced
religion,” said the girl; “you are converted.” I was startled at the idea,
but did not know how to deny it, and I went home in an exalted state
of feeling; and, as I looked into the depths of the heavens above me,
there came to my youthful mind the first glimmer of thought on
spiritual themes.
It was an awakening, but not a conversion, for I had been
converted from nothing to nothing. I was at once claimed as a
“young convert,” went to the church prayer-meeting, told my
“experience” as directed, and was put on probation for admission to
the church. Meanwhile, I had been advised not to ask my mother’s
consent to this step, because she was a Universalist, and might
object. But I did not follow this advice; and when I told her of my
desire, she simply answered, “If you think it will make you any
happier, do so, but I do not believe you will be satisfied.” I have
always been very thankful to my mother for giving me this freedom in
my young life,—

“Not to be followed hourly, watched and noosed,”—

this chance in such an important matter to learn to think and to act

for myself. In fact, she always carried out this principle, and never to
my recollection coerced her children on any important point, but
taught them to “see for themselves.”
 When the day came for me to be admitted into the church, I, with
many other little girls, was sprinkled; and, when I stood up to repeat
the creed, I can truly say that I knew no more what were the
doctrines to which I was expected to subscribe, than I did about the
Copernican System or the Differential Calculus. And I might have
said, with the disciples at Ephesus, I “have not so much as heard
whether there be any Holy Ghost.” For, although I had been regularly
to church and to Sunday-school, I had never seen the Articles of
Belief, nor had I been instructed concerning the doctrines, or the
sacredness of the vow I was about to take upon me. Nor, from the
frequent backsliding among the young converts, do I think my case
was a singular one, although, so far as I know, I was the only one
who backslid enough to be excommunicated.
And later, when I was requested to subscribe to the Articles of
Belief, I found I could not accept them, particularly a certain part,
which related to the day of judgment and what would follow
thereafter. I have reviewed this document, and am able to quote the
exact words which were a stumbling-block to me. “We believe ... that
at the day of judgment the state of all will be unalterably fixed, and
that the punishment of the wicked and the happiness of the righteous
will be endless.”
When the service was over, I went home, feeling as if I had done
something wrong. I thought of my mother, whom my church people
called an “unbeliever;” of my dear little brother who had been
drowned, and whose soul might be lost, and I was most unhappy.
In fact, so serious was I for many days, that no doubt my church
friends thought me a most promising young convert.
Indeed I was converted, but not in the way they supposed; for I
had begun to think on religious subjects, and the more I thought the
less I believed in the doctrines of the church to which I belonged.
Doubts of the goodness of God filled my mind, and unbelief in the
Father’s love and compassion darkened my young life. What a
conversion! The beginning of long years of doubt and of struggle in
search of spiritual truths.
 After a time I went no more to my church meetings, and began to
attend those of the Universalists; but, though strongly urged, as a
“come-outer,” to join that body, I did not do so, being fearful of
subscribing to a belief whose mysteries I could neither understand
nor explain.
Hearing that I was attending the meetings of another
denomination, my church appointed three persons, at least one of
whom was a deacon, to labor with me. They came to our house one
evening, and, while my mother and I sat at our sewing, they plied me
with questions relating to my duty as a church member, and
arguments concerning the articles of belief; these I did not know how
to answer, but my mother, who had had some experience in
“religious” disputes, gave text for text, and I remember that, although
I trembled at her boldness, I thought she had the best of it.
Meanwhile, I sat silent, with downcast eyes, and when they
threatened me with excommunication if I did not go to the church
meetings, and “fulfil my covenant,” I mustered up courage to say,
with shaking voice, “I do not believe; I cannot go to your church,
even if you do excommunicate me.”
When my Universalist friends heard of this threat of
excommunication, they urged the preparation of a letter to the
church, giving my reasons for non-attendance; and this was
published in a Lowell newspaper, July 30, 1842. In this letter, which
my elder brother helped me to prepare,—in fact, I believe wrote the
most of it,—several arguments against the Articles of Belief are
given; and the letter closes with a request to “my brothers and
sisters,” to erase my name from “your church books rather than to
follow your usual course, common in cases similar to my own, to
excommunicate the heretic.”
This request was not heeded, and shortly after a committee of
three was “then appointed to take farther steps;” and this committee
reported that they had “visited and admonished” me without success;
and in November, 1842, the following vote was passed, and is
recorded in the church book:—
 “Nov. 21, 1842.
Whereas, it appears that Miss Harriet Hanson has violated her
covenant with this church,—first, by repeated and regular absence
from the ordinances of the gospel, second, by embracing sentiments
deemed by this church heretical; and whereas, measures have been
taken to reclaim her, but ineffectual; therefore,
Voted, that we withdraw our fellowship from the said Miss Hanson
until she shall give satisfactory evidence of repentance.”

And thus, at seventeen years of age, I was excommunicated from

the church of my ancestors, and for no fault, no sin, no crime, but
simply because I could not subscribe conscientiously to doctrines
which I did not comprehend. I relate this phase of my youthful
experience here in detail, because it serves to show the methods
which were then in use to cast out or dispose of those members who
could not subscribe to the doctrines of the dominant church of New
England.
For some time after this, I was quite in disgrace with some of my
work-mates, and was called a “heretic” and a “child of perdition” by
my church friends. But, as I did not agree, even in this, with their
opinions, but went my “ain gait,” it followed that, although I remained
for a time something of a heretic, I was not an unbeliever in sacred
things nor did I prove to be a “child of perdition.” But this experience
made me very unhappy, and gave me a distaste for religious reading
and thinking, and for many years the Bible was a sealed book to me,
until I came to see in the Book, not the letter of dogma, but rather the
spirit of truth and of revelation. This experience also repressed the
humorous side of my nature, which is every one’s birthright, and
made me for a time a sort of youthful cynic; and I allowed myself to
feel a certain contempt for those of my work-mates who, though they
could not give clear reason for their belief, still remained faithful to
their “covenant.”
There were two or three little incidents connected with this
episode in my life that may be of interest. A little later, when I thought
of applying for the position of teaching in a public school, I was
advised by a well-meaning friend not to attempt it, “for,” the friend
added, “you will not succeed, for how can a Universalist pray in her
school?”
Several years after my excommunication, when I had come to
observe that religion and “mere morality” do not always go together, I
had a final interview with one of the deacons who had labored with
me. He was an overseer in the room where I worked, and I had
noticed his familiar manner with some of the girls, who did not like it
any better than I did; and one day, when his behavior was unusually
offensive, I determined to speak to him about it.
I called him to my drawing-in frame, where I was sitting at work,
and said to him something like this: “I have hard work to believe that
you are one of those deacons who came to labor with a young girl
about belonging to your church. I don’t think you set the example of
good works you then preached to me.” He gave me a look, but did
not answer; and shortly after, as I might have expected, I received an
“honorable discharge” from his room.
But let me acknowledge one far-reaching benefit that resulted
from my being admitted to the Orthodox church, a benefit which
came to me in the summer of 1895. Because of my baptism,
administered so long ago, I was enabled to officiate as god-mother
to my grandchild and namesake, in Pueblo, Colorado,—one among
the first of the little girls born on a political equality with the little boys
of that enlightened State, born, as one may say, with the ballot in her
hand! And to any reader who has an interest in the final result of my
religious experience, I may add, that, as late as 1898, I became a
communicant of the Episcopal Church.
When the time came for me to become engaged to the man of my
choice, having always believed in the old-fashioned idea that there
should be no secrets between persons about to marry, I told him,
among my other shortcomings, as the most serious of all, the story
of my excommunication. To my great surprise, he laughed heartily,
derided the whole affair, and wondered at the serious view I had
always taken of it; and later he enjoyed saying to some of his
gentlemen friends, as if it were a good joke, “Did you know my wife
had been excommunicated from the church?”
And I too, long since have learned, that no creed—

“Can fix our doom,

Nor stay the eternal Love from His intent,
While Hope remaining bears her verdant bloom.”
 CHAPTER IV.

THE CHARACTERISTICS OF THE EARLY

FACTORY GIRLS.

When I look back into the factory life of fifty or sixty years ago, I
do not see what is called “a class” of young men and women going
to and from their daily work, like so many ants that cannot be
distinguished one from another; I see them as individuals, with
personalities of their own. This one has about her the atmosphere of
her early home. That one is impelled by a strong and noble purpose.
The other,—what she is, has been an influence for good to me and
to all womankind.
Yet they were a class of factory operatives, and were spoken of
(as the same class is spoken of now) as a set of persons who
earned their daily bread, whose condition was fixed, and who must
continue to spin and to weave to the end of their natural existence.
Nothing but this was expected of them, and they were not supposed
to be capable of social or mental improvement. That they could be
educated and developed into something more than mere work-
people, was an idea that had not yet entered the public mind. So
little does one class of persons really know about the thoughts and
aspirations of another! It was the good fortune of these early mill-
girls to teach the people of that time that this sort of labor is not
degrading; that the operative is not only “capable of virtue,” but also
capable of self-cultivation.
At the time the Lowell cotton-mills were started, the factory girl
was the lowest among women. In England, and in France
particularly, great injustice had been done to her real character; she
was represented as subjected to influences that could not fail to
destroy her purity and self-respect. In the eyes of her overseer she
was but a brute, a slave, to be beaten, pinched, and pushed about. It
was to overcome this prejudice that such high wages had been
offered to women that they might be induced to become mill-girls, in
spite of the opprobrium that still clung to this “degrading occupation.”
At first only a few came; for, though tempted by the high wages to be
regularly paid in “cash,” there were many who still preferred to go on
working at some more genteel employment at seventy-five cents a
week and their board.
But in a short time the prejudice against factory labor wore away,
and the Lowell mills became filled with blooming and energetic New
England women. They were naturally intelligent, had mother-wit, and
fell easily into the ways of their new life. They soon began to
associate with those who formed the community in which they had
come to live, and were invited to their houses. They went to the
same church, and sometimes married into some of the best families.
Or if they returned to their secluded homes again, instead of being
looked down upon as “factory girls” by the squire’s or the lawyer’s
family, they were more often welcomed as coming from the
metropolis, bringing new fashions, new books, and new ideas with
them.
In 1831 Lowell was little more than a factory village. Several
corporations were started, and the cotton-mills belonging to them
were building. Help was in great demand; and stories were told all
over the country of the new factory town, and the high wages that
were offered to all classes of work-people,—stories that reached the
ears of mechanics’ and farmers’ sons, and gave new life to lonely
and dependent women in distant towns and farmhouses. Into this
Yankee El Dorado, these needy people began to pour by the various
modes of travel known to those slow old days. The stage-coach and
the canal-boat came every day, always filled with new recruits for
this army of useful people. The mechanic and machinist came, each
with his home-made chest of tools, and oftentimes his wife and little
ones. The widow came with her little flock and her scanty
housekeeping goods to open a boarding-house or variety store, and
so provided a home for her fatherless children. Many farmers’
daughters came to earn money to complete their wedding outfit, or
buy the bride’s share of housekeeping articles.
Women with past histories came, to hide their griefs and their
identity, and to earn an honest living in the “sweat of their brow.”
Single young men came, full of hope and life, to get money for an
education, or to lift the mortgage from the home-farm. Troops of
young girls came by stages and baggage-wagons, men often being
employed to go to other States and to Canada, to collect them at so
much a head, and deliver them at the factories.
A very curious sight these country girls presented to young eyes
accustomed to a more modern style of things. When the large
covered baggage-wagon arrived in front of a block on the
corporation, they would descend from it, dressed in various and
outlandish fashions, and with their arms brimful of bandboxes
containing all their worldly goods. On each of these was sewed a
card, on which one could read the old-fashioned New England name
of the owner. And sorrowful enough they looked, even to the fun-
loving child who has lived to tell the story; for they had all left their
pleasant country homes to try their fortunes in a great manufacturing
town, and they were homesick even before they landed at the doors
of their boarding-houses. Years after, this scene dwelt in my
memory; and whenever anyone said anything about being homesick,
there rose before me the picture of a young girl with a sorrowful face
and a big tear in each eye, clambering down the steps at the rear of
a great covered wagon, holding fast to a cloth-covered bandbox,
drawn up at the top with a string, on which was sewed a paper
bearing the name of Plumy Clay!
Some of these girls brought diminutive hair trunks covered with
the skin of calves, spotted in dun and white, even as when they did
skip and play in daisy-blooming meads. And when several of them
were set together in front of one of the blocks, they looked like their
living counterparts, reposing at noontide in the adjacent field. One of
this kind of trunks has been handed down to me as an heirloom. The
hair is worn off in patches; it cannot be invigorated, and it is now
become a hairless heirloom. Within its hide-bound sides are safely
stowed away the love-letters of a past generation,—love-letters that
agitated the hearts of the grandparents of to-day; and I wonder that
their resistless ardor has not long ago burst its wrinkled sides. It is
relegated to distant attics, with its ancient crony, “ye bandbox,” to
enjoy an honored and well-earned repose.
Ah me! when some of us, its contemporaries, are also past our
usefulness, gone clean out of fashion, may we also be as resigned,
yea, as willing, to be laid quietly on some attic shelf!
These country girls had queer names, which added to the
singularity of their appearance. Samantha, Triphena, Plumy, Kezia,
Aseneth, Elgardy, Leafy, Ruhamah, Lovey, Almaretta, Sarepta, and
Florilla were among them.
Their dialect was also very peculiar. On the broken English and
Scotch of their ancestors was ingrafted the nasal Yankee twang; so
that many of them, when they had just come daown, spoke a
language almost unintelligible. But the severe discipline and ridicule
which met them was as good as a school education, and they were
soon taught the “city way of speaking.”
Their dress was also peculiar, and was of the plainest of
homespun, cut in such an old-fashioned style that each young girl
looked as if she had borrowed her grandmother’s gown. Their only
head-covering was a shawl, which was pinned under the chin; but
after the first pay-day, a “shaker” (or “scooter”) sunbonnet usually
replaced this primitive head-gear of their rural life.
But the early factory girls were not all country girls. There were
others also, who had been taught that “work is no disgrace.” There
were some who came to Lowell solely on account of the social or
literary advantages to be found there. They lived in secluded parts of
New England, where books were scarce, and there was no
cultivated society. They had comfortable homes, and did not perhaps
need the money they would earn; but they longed to see this new
“City of Spindles,” of which they had heard so much from their
neighbors and friends, who had gone there to work.
And the fame of the circulating libraries, that were soon opened,
drew them and kept them there, when no other inducement would
have been sufficient.
The laws relating to women were such, that a husband could
claim his wife wherever he found her, and also the children she was
trying to shield from his influence; and I have seen more than one
poor woman skulk behind her loom or her frame when visitors were
approaching the end of the aisle where she worked. Some of these
were known under assumed names, to prevent their husbands from
trusteeing their wages. It was a very common thing for a male
person of a certain kind to do this, thus depriving his wife of all her
wages, perhaps, month after month. The wages of minor children
could be trusteed, unless the children (being fourteen years of age)
were given their time. Women’s wages were also trusteed for the
debts of their husbands, and children’s for the debts of their parents.
As an instance, my mother had some financial difficulties when I
was fifteen years old, and to save herself and me from annoyance,
she gave me my time. The document reads as follows:—

“Be it known that I, Harriet Hanson, of Lowell, in consideration

that my minor daughter Harriet J. has taken upon herself the whole
burden of her own support, and has undertaken and agreed to
maintain herself henceforward without expense to me, do hereby
release and quitclaim unto her all profits and wages which she may
hereafter earn or acquire by her skill or labor in any occupation,—
and do hereby disclaim all right to collect or interfere with the same.
And I do give and release unto her the absolute control and disposal
of her own time according to her own discretion, without interference
from me. It being understood that I am not to be chargeable
hereafter with any expense on her account.
(Signed) Harriet Hanson.
July 2, 1840.”

It must be remembered that at this date woman had no property

rights. A widow could be left without her share of her husband’s (or
the family) property, a legal “incumbrance” to his estate. A father
could make his will without reference to his daughter’s share of the
inheritance. He usually left her a home on the farm as long as she
remained single. A woman was not supposed to be capable of
spending her own or of using other people’s money. In
Massachusetts, before 1840, a woman could not legally be treasurer
of her own sewing-society, unless some man were responsible for
her.
The law took no cognizance of woman as a money-spender. She
was a ward, an appendage, a relict. Thus it happened, that if a
woman did not choose to marry, or, when left a widow, to re-marry,
she had no choice but to enter one of the few employments open to
her, or to become a burden on the charity of some relative.
In almost every New England home could be found one or more
of these women, sometimes welcome, more often unwelcome, and
leading joyless, and in many instances unsatisfactory, lives. The
cotton-factory was a great opening to these lonely and dependent
women. From a condition approaching pauperism they were at once
placed above want; they could earn money, and spend it as they
pleased; and could gratify their tastes and desires without restraint,
and without rendering an account to anybody. At last they had found
a place in the universe; they were no longer obliged to finish out their
faded lives mere burdens to male relatives. Even the time of these
women was their own, on Sundays and in the evening after the day’s
work was done. For the first time in this country woman’s labor had a
money value. She had become not only an earner and a producer,
but also a spender of money, a recognized factor in the political
economy of her time. And thus a long upward step in our material
civilization was taken; woman had begun to earn and hold her own
money, and through its aid had learned to think and to act for herself.
Among the older women who sought this new employment were
very many lonely and dependent ones, such as used to be
mentioned in old wills as “incumbrances” and “relicts,” and to whom
a chance of earning money was indeed a new revelation. How well I
remember some of these solitary ones! As a child of eleven years, I
often made fun of them—for children do not see the pathetic side of
human life—and imitated their limp carriage and inelastic gait. I can
see them now, even after sixty years, just as they looked,—
depressed, modest, mincing, hardly daring to look one in the face, so
shy and sylvan had been their lives. But after the first pay-day came,
and they felt the jingle of silver in their pockets, and had begun to
feel its mercurial influence, their bowed heads were lifted, their necks
seemed braced with steel, they looked you in the face, sang blithely
among their looms or frames, and walked with elastic step to and
from their work. And when Sunday came, homespun was no longer
their only wear; and how sedately gay in their new attire they walked
to church, and how proudly they dropped their silver fourpences into
the contribution-box! It seemed as if a great hope impelled them,—
the harbinger of the new era that was about to dawn for them and for
all women-kind.
In passing, let me not forget to pay a tribute, also, to those noble
single and widowed women, who are “set solitary in families,” but
whose presence cements the domestic fabric, and whose influence
is unseen and oftentimes unappreciated, until they are taken away
and the integral part of the old home-life begins to crumble.
Except in rare instances, the rights of the early mill-girls were
secure. They were subject to no extortion, if they did extra work they
were always paid in full, and their own account of labor done by the
piece was always accepted. They kept the figures, and were paid
accordingly. This was notably the case with the weavers and
drawing-in girls. Though the hours of labor were long, they were not
over-worked; they were obliged to tend no more looms and frames
than they could easily take care of, and they had plenty of time to sit
and rest. I have known a girl to sit idle twenty or thirty minutes at a
time. They were not driven, and their work-a-day life was made easy.
They were treated with consideration by their employers, and there
was a feeling of respectful equality between them. The most favored
of the girls were sometimes invited to the houses of the dignitaries of
the mills, showing that the line of social division was not rigidly
maintained.
Their life in the factory was made pleasant to them. In those days
there was no need of advocating the doctrine of the proper relation
between employer and employed. Help was too valuable to be ill-
treated. If these early agents, or overseers, had been disposed to
exercise undue authority, or to establish unjust or arbitrary laws, the
high character of the operatives, and the fact that women employees
were scarce would have prevented it. A certain agent of one of the
first corporations in Lowell (an old sea-captain) said to one of his
boarding-house keepers, “I should like to rule my help as I used to
rule my sailors, but so many of them are women I do not dare to do
it.”
The knowledge of the antecedents of these operatives was the
safeguard of their liberties. The majority of them were as well born
as their “overlookers,” if not better; and they were also far better
educated.
The agents and overseers were usually married men, with
families of growing sons and daughters. They were members, and
sometimes deacons, of the church, and teachers in the same
Sunday-school with the girls employed under them. They were
generally of good morals and temperate habits, and often exercised
a good influence over their help. The feeling that the agents and
overseers were interested in their welfare caused the girls, in turn, to
feel an interest in the work for which their employers were
responsible. The conscientious among them took as much pride in
spinning a smooth thread, drawing in a perfect web, or in making
good cloth, as they would have done if the material had been for
their own wearing. And thus was practised, long before it was
preached, that principle of true political economy,—the just relation,
the mutual interest, that ought to exist between employers and
employed.
Those of the mill-girls who had homes generally worked from
eight to ten months in the year; the rest of the time was spent with
parents or friends. A few taught school during the summer months.
When we left the mill, or changed our place of work from one
corporation to another, we were given an “honorable discharge.”
Mine, of which I am still quite proud, is dated the year of my
marriage, and is as follows:—
 “Harriet J. Hanson has been employed in the Boott Cotton
Mills, in a dressing-room, twenty-five months, and is honorably
discharged.
(Signed) J. F. Trott.
Lowell, July 25, 1848.”

The chief characteristics of the early mill-girls may be briefly

mentioned, as showing the material of which this new community of
working-women was composed. Concerning their personal
appearance, I am able to quote from a magazine article written by
the poet John G. Whittier, then a resident of Lowell. He thus
describes,—

“THE FACTORY GIRLS OF LOWELL.

“Acres of girlhood, beauty reckoned by the square rod,—or miles
by long measure! the young, the graceful, the gay,—the flowers
gathered from a thousand hillsides and green valleys of New
England, fair unveiled Nuns of Industry, Sisters of Thrift, and are ye
not also Sisters of Charity dispensing comfort and hope and
happiness around many a hearthstone of your native hills, making
sad faces cheerful, and hallowing age and poverty with the sunshine
of your youth and love! Who shall sneer at your calling? Who shall
count your vocation otherwise than noble and ennobling?”

Of their literary and studious habits, Professor A. P. Peabody, of

Harvard University, gives his opinion in an article written not long ago
in the Atlantic Monthly. He says, “During the palmy days of The
Lowell Offering I used every winter to lecture for the Lowell Lyceum.
Not amusement, but instruction, was then the lecturer’s aim.... The
Lowell Hall was always crowded, and four-fifths of the audience were
factory-girls. When the lecturer entered, almost every girl had a book
in her hand, and was intent upon it. When he rose, the book was laid
aside, and paper and pencil taken instead; and there were very few
who did not carry home full notes of what they had heard. I have
never seen anywhere so assiduous note-taking. No, not even in a
college class, ... as in that assembly of young women, laboring for
their subsistence.”
To introduce a more practical side of their character I will quote an
extract from a letter received not long ago from a gentleman in the
Detroit Public Library, which says, “The factory-girls went to Lowell
from the hills of Vermont when I was a boy, numbers of them from
every town in my county (Windsor); and it was considered something
of a distinction to have worked for ‘the corporation,’ and brought
home some hard cash, which in many and many cases went to help
lift a mortgage on the farm, or to buy something needed for the
comfort of the old folks, or to send a younger brother or sister to the
Academy. I knew several of these girls who brought home purses
from Lowell which looked big in those days, and I recall one who is
still living in my native town of Pomfret.”
It may be added here, that the majority of the mill-girls made just
as good use of their money, so newly earned, and of whose value
they had hitherto known so little. They were necessarily industrious.
They were also frugal and saving. It was their custom on the first day
of every month, after paying their board-bill ($1.25 a week), to put
their wages in the savings-bank. There the money stayed, on
interest, until they withdrew it, to carry home or to use for a special
purpose. It is easy to see how much good this sum would do in a
rural community where money, as a means of exchange, had been
scarce. Into the barren homes many of them had left it went like a
quiet stream, carrying with it beauty and refreshment. The mortgage
was lifted from the homestead; the farmhouse was painted; the barn
rebuilt; modern improvements (including Mrs. Child’s “Frugal
Housewife”—the first American cook-book) were introduced into the
mother’s kitchen, and books and newspapers began to ornament the
sitting-room table.
Some of the mill-girls helped maintain widowed mothers, or
drunken, incompetent, or invalid fathers. Many of them educated the
younger children of the family, and young men were sent to college
with the money furnished by the untiring industry of their women
relatives.