Hope like wildflowers, p.12
Hope Like Wildflowers, page 12
She'd just reached her buggy when someone called her name.
Her shoulders slumped.
Charles.
With a deep breath, she turned to face him. He ran toward her, coatless, his hair bouncing in the breeze and a paper waving in his hand as he approached. Her letter, no doubt, but he couldn't have read it all in the short time it took for her to leave the house and make it to the buggy.
“What is this?” He waved the paper in the air as he approached. “You're leaving?”
“I explained things in the letter.” Her heartbeat ratcheted up, pounding in her ears. “It's for the best.”
“For whose best?” He drew closer, his jaw clenched, eyes blazing. “Is this because I went away?” He waved back at the house. “Because of Lorainne?”
Ah, right. That was his cousin's friend's name. Lorainne.
“Your leaving just helped make things clearer, Charles. We can't keep living this way.” She clasped her hands in front of her. “I don't want to make this choice, but it's the right one.”
“The right one?” He searched her face, his approach slowing, almost predatory. “For who?” His frantic gaze roamed over her face. “Because I don't want you to go.”
“And yet I can't stay.” A little spurt of fire shot through her. “Have you thought at all about what it's like for me living as an outcast? What it will be like for Charlie?” She waved between the two of them. “This thing betwixt us, it ain't right.”
“You're saying love isn't right?” He stepped nearer, towering over her, heat fairly radiating off him.
“Love?” He'd never mentioned love before. Her resolve shifted a little. “Maybe because I love you, I realize the only way you can truly be happy … is to be free.”
Air shot out of him, his frown deepening. “What?”
“We're both stuck, Charles. Neither one of us can move forward with our lives. You have me and Charlie in the shadows, always reminding you of your past. And … I don't think we can belong in your future.”
“You belong to me.” His words burst out, and then he sighed. “With me.”
Belong to him? No, she knew the truth now. “No, I don't. Not in a way that matters to God and the people watching us. Not in a way that I'm willing to live with anymore.” She gentled her voice, touching his arm. “I love you something fierce. And I don't want to hurt you at all.”
“Then don't.” He growled out the words.
Tears invaded her vision, but she raised her chin against the tug toward him.
“By leaving now, I keep you from hurting a lot worse. And I keep Charlie from hurting worse too.” She searched his face. “Can't you see how the hurt will only grow the longer we live in this in-between place? It will hurt Charlie. His reputation, because he's going to grow up and realize that even if his daddy loves him, it's not enough to let him claim his daddy's name.”
“Is that what this is all about?” He jerked back from her, eyes narrowed. “Are you trying to manipulate me into marrying you by doing this?”
She stared at him, hoping he'd realize the nonsense of his question.
“Mama said you'd try.”
“Your mama said?” A fire lit in Kizzie's chest and burst warmth into her face. “She's another reason to set you free, Charles. She already controls so much of your world. Why would I stay and watch her turn you against me and your babe?”
“I appease her so things will be easier for all of us. You can't understand.”
“Right?” A humorless laugh shook from her. “Which means you have to choose sides, and that's not the way things are supposed to be. I've already seen how you've been changing toward me because of the fight between your mama's wishes and what care you have for me.” Emotions scratched at her throat. “She despises me, and someday she'll turn you against me too.”
“That's a bit harsh, Kizzie.”
“Is it?” She narrowed her eyes right back at him. “Did you know she's been trying to scare me off? That she's behind the folks attacking the house?”
He shook his head. “What?”
“She's the one who sent men a few nights ago too. Shot up the place. Broke some windows.”
He took another step back, continuing to shake his head. “There ain't no reason to make up stories just to justify your choices.”
She stared at him, the hard edges of his face, the distrust distancing him even more than the few feet between them. This was only the beginning of his mama's influence, and they'd only known each other a year. What would happen after two years, or five? She'd rather leave with Charles thinking good of her and caring for his little boy with whatever care he had than to have him send her away in disgust or shame … or hatred.
“I'm going to believe you know me well enough to come to the right conclusions, but if you won't believe me for who I am, then …” She raised her chin. “Ask your cousin, Cole. I think he recently hurt his shootin’ hand? A bullet wound, if I'm not mistaken?”
The tension in his face slacked. “How did you—”
“I shot him.” She refused to look away. “I didn't know it was him when I shot him, but he was with five other men throwing rocks at the house and shooting into the side of it. They shouted all sorts of ugly things. I don't know who all else was with him, but they meant to run me off.” She cleared her throat, the tactile memory of the fear closing off her breath a little. “I was scared and shot at them to get them to leave.” Her eyes narrowed. “But I could have killed ’em if I wanted. I'm a good shot. Best squirrel shooter in the family.”
His eyes grew wide.
“I heard ’em talkin’ that your mama paid them to scare me off, and that's when I saw your cousin's face in the moonlight.”
He rocked another step back. “No.”
“You don't have to believe me, but that don't mean what I'm sayin’ ain't true. You're gonna believe what you want to believe anyway, and I can't change that. But it's all the more proof I need to leave, not just for my safety but for Charlie's. ’Cause if your mama is desperate enough to send men to shoot into a house where a single woman and child live, then she may become desperate enough to do worse.” Her eyes burned now, the admission puncturing her control. “And if I have to trick you into marryin’ me, then I don't want you marryin’ me a'tall.”
“Kizzie—”
“I have never been anything but honest with you. And I may have lost knowin’ who I was in the idea of bein’ your gal, but I'm not lost no more. If I marry, I want it to be because someone chooses me for me, not because he's forced or tricked or talked into it.”
“I didn't mean—”
“And if you really wanted to marry me, Charles, really truly …” The truth knifed through her as she spoke. “And your mama wanted your happiness, then I think you'd fight a whole lot harder for us. And she'd learn to love who you love, is how I see it.”
Which only proved all the more he didn't love her. Not like she'd thought … or hoped.
“Please, Kizzie.” His voice softened in entreaty, sending an ache through her. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to accuse. But it's a delicate situation, with social expectations and family land …” He stepped close again. “Why can't we go on like we are?”
“Because it's wrong, Charles. Don't you see it? All the love in the world can't make wrong choices into right ones. I believe you care about me and Charlie, but you're not free to live your life.” She pinched her eyes closed. “And neither am I.”
“But when Mama dies—”
Her humorless laugh broke into his mantra. “Your mama ain't never gonna die. She's gonna live forever out of sheer spite, if she don't turn you plumb against me in the process.”
“She won't—”
“It's happening right now, with you questioning my motives.” She shook her head. “And do you really plan to put your life and mine on hold until then? Five years? Ten? Twenty? Your mama ain't old, Charles.”
He fell silent, his jaw tense again.
“I've got to learn to rely on God and my own wits because I can't expect you to rescue or love me in the way you would if your heart wasn't split between two worlds that don't fit together.” The tears won then, a strange combination of burning out of her eyes to cool her cheeks. “So instead of forcing you to choose one and live with that guilt, I'm choosing for the both of us. So we can both be free.”
He stared at her for a moment, and then his shoulders slumped. “Where will you go?”
“I don't have a set place yet.” Nella had recommended The Hollows, but she kept that to herself. “East, I reckon.”
A fire lit his eyes. “I want to know because I mean to prove to you that I'm a man of my word.” He surged forward, mere inches away. “When Mama dies, I will come find you.”
Oh, how she wanted to believe him, to trust that his affection for her went deeper than an easy conquest and a sweet thought. “Charlie will know about his daddy. He'll know all the good and wonderful and kind things. I'll make sure he knows.”
The tension in his jaw wobbled a little, and he stepped back with a nod. “And make sure he knows that I'm not the one who took him away from his daddy.” All warmth fled his expression. “His mama was.”
The declaration hit like a blow to her chest, but she refused to bend beneath it. Hurt people were like hurt animals. In their pain, they'd bite the hand trying to help them.
She remained quiet, holding his gaze.
Without warning, he split the distance between them and pulled her into a hard kiss. His arms caged her in, his mouth almost painful against hers. Her body stiffened against his hold before he drew back, the scent of wine on his breath. “You're mine, Kizzie. You'll always be mine, no matter where you go.”
After another searing kiss, he released her and marched to the house without one backward glance. Her body shook, her mind reeling. It took a few moments for her to gather her wits and strength to climb into the buggy, tears still coursing down her cheeks.
What had just happened? What sort of new pain gaped wide inside her chest?
She set Daisy into motion at a canter, a sob shaking from her.
You'll always be mine.
His voice, his scent, the steel in his eyes and arms, took on a memory she'd never paired with him, a possessiveness. He had been hurt. Surprised. Surely those behaviors only emerged because of his fear and hurt. His … love?
She flinched at the thought. Was it love?
She raised her gaze to the darkening sky as oranges, pinks, and golds mingled into fading blue, another similar phrase rising to combat Charles’.
I have called thee by thy name; thou art mine.
With a smooth of her palm against her cheek to wipe away the tears, she embraced her new life with both hands. She'd never belonged to Charles Morgan. Not fully.
But she did belong to God.
She drew in a shivering breath. And whatever came tomorrow, no matter where she went, He promised to be with her.
Always.
And He would be enough.
Chapter 10
“FIRE!”
The single word shot a chill through Noah Lewis’ veins and sent his feet into motion. He ran toward the call. The rhythmic clatter of the knitting machines continued as if unconcerned about the possible devastation ingrained in such a warning, especially in a mill where cotton fibers coated the air in wait of ignition.
Noah rushed between the rows, following the sound of the growing commotion. Smoke rose near one of the back knitting machines, and just as he turned the corner, the sparks from the feeble flames on a small pile of yarn lit a nearby collection of fabric scraps, doubling the fire's size.
“Fire!” someone else shouted, the woman's voice reverberating against the ceilings and the high windows that allowed light into the crowded space.
“Sand buckets,” Noah called out to anyone who would hear. “Get the sand buckets.”
Pausing only to catch one of the bucket's handles, he continued forward, the flames licking higher. If they made it to one of the machines, there was no way Noah or anyone else could stop the devastation. Each machine stood near enough to another to create a fiery domino effect to take down the entire mill.
“Jack!”
The woman's cry mingled with all the other sounds, diverting Noah's attention to the left. A little boy, no more than three, stood with a skein in hand, the yarn as frozen in his grasp as his expression.
The growing glow of the fire reflected on Jack's spellbound face, the flames moving ever nearer to his little body. Noah dashed the contents of the sand bucket toward the flames and turned to scoop the little boy into his arms, the acrid smell of burning fabric filling his nostrils as he moved.
Noah's actions broke the spell on the boy, and he looked up at Noah as a shudder trembled through his body. “No worries, little one,” Noah cooed, stepping back away from the flames. “It's all right.”
As if his words gave the child permission, Jack's bottom lip trembled a warning before he burst into a wail.
Amy Lawson ran toward him, arms outstretched, but then her attention shifted to Noah's waist. “Sir, your jacket!”
Her alert sounded at the same time a stinging sensation hit Noah's lower back. He jerked his head around to look. Flames licked at the hem of his jacket, hungrily devouring the material.
“Sand!” Noah shouted again. He shoved the little boy into his mother's arms, jerked off his jacket, and tossed it to the floor, stamping a foot down on the flame. “Hurry. Everyone!”
His cry set more folks into motion. In concert, men and women came from all directions, bringing sand buckets and fire blankets, each worker as aware of the dangers of a spark in a cotton mill as Noah. Too many headlines told of lives lost and jobs destroyed by one flicker in the middle of a cotton mill.
Breathing heavily, Noah bent forward, resting his palms on his thighs as more buckets of sand blotted out the last of the fire. Stretching to a stand, he looked at the people who'd gathered around, a few coated in ash like he was.
“I appreciate your quick actions, everyone.” He raised his voice over the sound of the continuing noise of the machines. “Quick work kept the fire from becoming worse, and that's a benefit for all of us.” His gaze landed on Amy holding Jack. “And, thank God, no one was hurt.”
The young woman smiled despite the tearstains on her face.
“Mr. Camden and I will look for a cause, but everyone else, return to work.”
A murmur spread through the crowd as a few men nodded toward Noah in some silent solidarity. Thank God indeed that no one was hurt and—Noah's gaze rose to the office—that his brother, George, was out of town in Mount Airy today. Otherwise, Noah feared several unsuspecting workers would have lost their jobs, just so George could have held someone responsible.
People dispersed in various directions, several of the younger women tugging their children closer. His eyes pinched closed at the flash of what might have been for Jack. How could he continue to employ these women and protect their children? He'd succeeded in fencing off a portion of one corner for the younger ones to play, but too often a child would escape, looking for their mother.
Lewis Mills needed workers. Mothers with young children were not their first choice, but even with them, there weren't enough to run the machines at an optimal pace. These women, most of them, either had sickly husbands or no husbands at all. As a result, they frequently had to leave work to tend to ill children, cutting even deeper into the company's bottom line.
“What do you think happened, sir?”
Noah turned to find Joe Camden, the mill engineer, at his side.
“I'm not sure, Joe, but it could be a number of things, both human means and mechanical.”
“You don't think Peabody took up smoking inside again, do you?”
Noah's attention shot across the room to an elderly man near one of the weaving looms. By all accounts, Peabody hadn't deserved a second chance at his job when Noah had caught him smoking inside the building, a habit which had started a small fire in one of the back rooms four months ago. But the man's penitence paired with the needs of his large family proved too much for Noah's doubts. He'd given the man his job back under strict warning that if Noah so much as smelled the smoke of a cigarette, Peabody would be gone.
Noah's gaze returned to the office space at the far end of the floor, upraised for a full view of the workings of the mill. If Noah's brother had caught Peabody, not only would the man have been out of a job, but he would have beaten him within an inch of his life.
“I'll let the findings speak for themselves.” Noah scanned the charred remains of smoking fabric and a wooden chair. “For now, I'm only grateful things weren't worse.” He looked at Jack, who rested his head on his mother's shoulder.
Because they could have been much worse.
“True that, Mr. Noah.” The man sighed and raked a hand through his brown hair. “True that.”
Noah settled his palms on his hips and surveyed the damage again. A spark from the machine? With the trajectory of the fire, it seemed most likely, but conjectures failed to fix problems.
“Joe, would you gather up a couple more men, maybe Lars and Jacobs, and have them help inspect everything?” Noah looked back at the scorched and melted pieces, now covered in sand. “See if the fire started from the friction of one of the machines.” He waved toward the scorched knitter. “We can have more frequent maintenance and attempt to keep as much scrap cloth away from the equipment as possible.”
“I can do that, sir.”
“Good. I'll take a round to look at the other machines.”
Joe hesitated, drawing Noah's attention back to the man's face. “Was there some other concern?”
“Not about the machines, sir.” Joe shrugged a shoulder. “But it's started snowing again.” He gestured to one of the nearby windows. “From the looks of things, it ain't gonna go easy on us neither.”
