Hope like wildflowers, p.24
Hope Like Wildflowers, page 24
“I'll try my best to keep my soft heart warned, Gayle Carter. But I'm as determined as you to help these girls.”
Girls like her.
And yet, they were in a much worse place than Kizzie, because as Kizzie saw her life now, she recognized God had placed her in a better position than anything she could have ever had back with Charles.
A job, an apartment, friends.
Her smile grew.
And now she knew with even more certainty why God had placed her in Mrs. Carter's shop in The Hollows.
To help women like herself find hope.
The consistent clicking of the machinery hummed through the room, as workers kept to their positions, some attempting small conversations over the noise of the machines. Others quietly kept to their repetitive work. Even the mule scavengers, mostly ten or eleven years old, appeared more serious than usual as they slipped beneath the spinning mule to retrieve fallen pieces of cotton before the carriage returned to the creel.
Usually, the boys raced the carriage to the creel like a game.
News of the theft had made its way through the mill, sobering most folks, because any hit to the overall production had the possibility of hurting their pay. But Noah was determined to keep any more docks in pay from happening. He had to, or they'd lose even more people.
His gaze traveled to an empty knitting machine on the other side of the room. Another family gone. Left only a few days ago to move to Mount Airy. Better pay, better support, and a mill village where their children could receive an education. In fact, that mill village even had a YMCA, with one of the most popular baseball teams around. He stifled a groan. How could he compete with that? Especially if someone was stealing from their mill and George refused to make needed changes.
Who was it?
One of the workers?
What evidence did he have? A button and cigarette butt.
His attention moved to Peabody, but the older man wasn't the only smoker in the mill. His gaze trailed the room, pinpointing others, but Noah had known most of them for years and none of them fit the profile of a thief at all.
Jones, the other watchman, assured Noah he'd keep an eye out for any hints of who the culprit or culprits might be.
“The Carpenters left?” George stood from his desk as Noah entered his brother's office. “When?”
“Their last day was Wednesday.”
George slammed a fist down on his desk. “But he was one of the best spinners we had.”
“I'll make inquiries in town for more workers, but you can't expect to find a replacement for Peter Carpenter's skills anytime soon. He's been with us five years and worked as a spinner five years before that somewhere else.”
“We must have someone to take his place, Noah. We can't allow production to slow.”
Noah attempted to tamp down a sudden rise of fury. “Then you're going to have to pay for a replacement. No one's going to come to our limping mill for the pay Peter received for the past two years.”
George's jaw tightened, and he pushed back from his desk and stood. “Fine. Write up an advertisement and list it in town for whatever you think will bring us someone fast.”
Noah stared, waiting for his brother to change his mind, but George was silent. “Do you have any idea who might steal from us, George?”
His brother released an exaggerated sigh and took his time looking up to meet Noah's gaze. “How many names from our current riffraff of mill workers do you want?”
Noah drew in a breath, attempting to calm himself. A fight wouldn't help anyone right now. “Someone who either knows how to pick locks or has a key.”
George narrowed his eyes. “Someone with a key?”
“That's the only other way besides lock picking that anyone could get into the store. No windows were broken. And Jones said he'd ensured all the doors were locked before he finished his shift and Sykes took over.”
“Maybe we should examine the whereabouts of our watchmen, then?” George released a humorless laugh. “Noah, don't make this more complicated than it has to be. A simple thief could have broken in to that store and taken our inventory, and there's no way to track any of it, so we're going to have to chalk it up to another loss.”
Something in the way his brother's gaze shifted or the tone of his voice put Noah on edge. Did George know more than he was admitting about the robbery?
Was he protecting someone?
A chill swept through Noah's body.
Or was he somehow involved in stealing from his own mill?
Chapter 20
THE LEWISES’ CHURCH STOOD AT the edge of town. It was smaller than the ones on Main Street, but the familiar white clapboard structure reminded Kizzie of home.
Her family attended a church with the same look, only smaller and poised on the edge of a view that went on forever. Oh, how she wished she'd recognized things about God back then. The view would have probably been even more beautiful, the love for her family even deeper. The hope for her daddy's rescue even stronger.
If she closed her eyes, she could almost see the view.
Feel the cool, honeysuckle breeze wafting up from the valley.
Hear her mama's humming as she washed laundry or her younger siblings’ giggles as they played in the yard.
The familiar ache nestled deep, but she had learned to live with it and pray through it to fight for the joy she knew God provided. The joy He'd helped her find in her new life.
But the present sweetness and quality of her current world never took away the longing for her family, to know how they were. It played through her mind like an unfinished melody. A story without an ending.
In the back of the church sat a few young mothers with infants on their laps, some she recognized from seeing them at the store. She joined them, already feeling a bit more comfortable with the intimate surroundings and folks dressed more commonly than richer congregants in Mrs. Carter's church downtown.
The preacher talked to the congregation without getting too loud, like having a conversation with them about the Bible. His style reminded her of Reverend Anderson back home, though, much to Kizzie's chagrin, she'd paid more attention to the boys or scenery or other girls’ clothes than the sermons growing up.
But now her heart opened to the teaching, drinking it in like the freshest milk.
The preacher warmed the room with his words and his knowledge of folks in the congregation, especially through his prayers, and made little comments to set people at ease. For example, when one of the babies near Kizzie started making loud noises, as if singing, during a prayer time, the preacher seamlessly said, “Thank you, Lord, for the evidence of life in this church by the sounds of our children. May we rejoice over their voices raised when all too many have been silenced by illness or mistreatment.”
She met Victoria outside the church, and they took her carriage to her house to spend the day together. Despite her wealthy lifestyle, Victoria never created social distance between herself and Kizzie. And since spring hovered on the cusp of the next month, Victoria took Kizzie on a tour of her walled garden and they spoke of plans for flowers and spices. Kizzie told her how she always allowed some wildflowers freedom to grow in any garden.
“Why is that, dear girl?”
“I've always loved them, especially now,” Kizzie answered as they walked around the space. Kizzie had only imagined a walled garden when Laurel read her a book about it once, but seeing one in real life made the story even more real. An easy place for romantic thoughts and secret meetings.
And beautiful images of God's creation.
“Wildflowers are everywhere on the mountains back home. Azaleas and rhododendron, in their big bunches to brighten up the mountainside, but also the smaller ones. The ones that grow in the most unlikely places. Even through cracks in rocks or in the snow. Like phlox or trillium or bluebells and blue violets.” She sat down on the bench in the middle of the sleeping garden with Victoria joining her. “They seem to grow and survive no matter what.”
“Resilient,” Victoria whispered, but her attention wasn't on the winter growth around her. She stared at Kizzie, a soft smile on her face that made Kizzie want to lean in for a hug. “I see it in you and the way you have grown since coming here. Your faith has bloomed as bright and strong as the sturdiest rhododendron.”
“It feels more like the tiny bluebell, but I like your thoughts on the matter.” She relaxed against the bench. Charlie napped in his regular spot in Victoria's guest bedroom, giving Kizzie's back a little rest. She'd been so tired lately, and she couldn't blame it on Charlie one bit. He'd been sleeping through the night consistently for two weeks.
“Did your husband have this garden built for you?”
Victoria glanced around the space. “Actually, Noah did. Several years ago.”
Noah. He just kept getting sweeter and sweeter.
Victoria turned on the bench to face Kizzie. “I know George hasn't left a pleasant impression, but you've noticed that Noah is quite different from his elder brother.”
Noticed Noah? Lord, help her. She had a hard time not noticing him. She'd even begged God to help her stop noticing him so thoroughly, but she loved their conversations, and his smile, and the way he lit up when he saw Charlie. Kizzie looked away, afraid Victoria had the same mind-reading abilities as her mother. “I ain't never met any man so kind and hardworking as him.”
“He is. Both.” She nodded. “If only his teachers had recognized that in him. He's struggled with reading his whole life. Math too. It's not that he can't do them, but both tasks take more effort and time.”
He struggled with reading? Math? He sounded a little like her brother, Isom. “I reckon that's why he's so patient then.”
“You've told me a few things about your past and Charlie's father, but are you still bound to him in your heart?”
Kizzie looked up, pondering the words, searching over her feelings. “I reckon I'll always feel a connection to him because he gave me Charlie. And I did care about him in my young-minded way, but I know now, whatever it was I felt, was more daydream and fancy-thinking than love.” She sighed and raised her gaze to the blue sky just beyond the oak branches above them. “I imagine me and Charlie will be on our own for a while yet, if not forever. It's hard for a good man to stomach my past, and I can understand it, so I'm asking God to help me learn to be content with Him and Him alone.”
Victoria's quiet chuckle brought Kizzie's gaze around. The woman gave Kizzie's arm a gentle squeeze. “I wouldn't give up all together, Kizzie. If the Lord loves us in all our brokenness and creates good for us even when we are not, then don't you think He is also able to create a man to love you in your brokenness too? And you very well may be exactly the woman some man's heart needs most. Your joy, your desire to find hope in even the most difficult situations of life? Mind my words, my dear, any good man should find your heart a treasure to possess.”
“I ain't considered myself a treasure before, ’cept in God's sight. And that's still a new notion.”
Victoria's smile gentled. “Don't place your value on your past, Kizzie dear. And don't underestimate God's grand love for His children. The Bible says He lavishes His love on us. Do you know what lavish means?”
“A bubble bath in nice warm water.” Kizzie grinned. “I never had one until I came to work for Mrs. Carter, and I'd say that's about as lavish as anything I've ever felt in my whole life.”
Victoria laughed. “Well then, think of a bubble bath and even more when you imagine God's lavish love. He means to give us more than we can imagine, and usually in the most unexpected of ways.” She touched Kizzie's cheek. “He brought you to me out of a snowstorm, and I didn't even know how much my heart needed you in my life.”
Heat burst into Kizzie's eyes, blurring her vision. She leaned in and wrapped her arms around Victoria. It had been too long since she'd been hugged by someone like a mother. She buried close, breathing in Victoria's rose scent. The soft texture of the lace of Victoria's gown rubbed her cheek.
“I needed you too.”
Victoria's palm slid down Kizzie's hair, the way Mama used to do, and Kizzie rested in the moment, holding it close. It had been so long since she'd felt … this.
Victoria pulled back first and sniffled before she stood. “Now, I would imagine Mrs. Candler will not be too pleased if we are late to supper, for she has cooked up one of her most famous specialties, chicken pudding.”
Kizzie laughed as she wiped at her eyes. “A cook like Mrs. Candler deserves our ready respect.”
“And praise.” Victoria grinned and offered Kizzie her hand. “Come, my girl.”
Kizzie took her hand and then, after she checked on a happily sleeping Charlie, joined Victoria at the dining table. Victoria shared stories of George and Noah as children and a few about her daughter, Clarice. The sadness in her eyes as she spoke of her youngest child pierced Kizzie's heart. Did her own mama feel the same about her “lost daughter”?
Surely, Mama prayed for her. Sometimes Kizzie wondered if she gained strength on special days when the longing for home grew stronger because her mama was praying extra hard that day. If God's Spirit lived in all His children at the same time, then maybe the Spirit took Mama's prayers and gave them a message as quick as one of those amazing telephones could do, except instead of communicating from ear to ear, it was from heart to heart.
Kizzie told some tales about her siblings and growing up in the mountains.
They both shared stories of being mamas of little boys, though Kizzie didn't have near the experience of Victoria yet. Though she missed Noah's interjections and company, the time spent with Victoria Lewis warmed her heart.
Charlie's fussing drew Kizzie from the table.
But after tending to him, upon her return to the dining room, she found George Lewis seated at the table.
He stood at her entrance, though somewhat reluctantly.
She still wasn't used to men standing when she entered a room. Back home, the boys would have laughed their heads off at such a notion.
“Kizzie, dear.” Victoria's smile grew tight. “George stopped in on his way from town, so I thought he could join us for the end of our meal before he returned home.”
“Of course.” Kizzie resumed her seat, settling Charlie on her lap. “It's nice to see you again, Mr. Lewis.”
He tipped his head toward her, holding her gaze. “A pleasure, Miss McAdams.”
Her entire body stood on edge. From the vulturelike look in his eyes to the superior tilt of his head, George Lewis brewed with danger and arrogance. And the way he'd pronounced “Miss”? He must have heard her story. Maybe her daddy burned with trouble when he was on a drunk, but Mr. Lewis carried a very different type of threat.
“George was just sharing how he should be finished with his new house by the end of March with plenty of time for his new bride to furnish it to her liking before the wedding, isn't that right, George?”
“Indeed.” He took a sip from his glass. “One of the finest houses in The Hollows, I'd venture to guess.”
What to say? “When is your wedding, Mr. Lewis?”
“May.” He placed his glass back on the table, eyeing her as he did so. “Beatrice longed for a spring wedding or we would have already been wed. I'm not sure if you know Miss Malone?”
“I can't say that I do, but I may have seen her if she came into the store.”
His smile took a humored turn. “I don't believe she would frequent Carters. Her tastes run in a more refined direction for purchases and clothing.”
Kizzie may not be refined, but she knew exactly what he was saying. “Well, I wouldn't discount your fabric, Mr. Lewis. We sell it in Carters, and it's some of the finest I've ever seen. No wonder it costs so much.”
Though the price still ran too high. She hadn't yet approached Gayle regarding some of those purchases over the last few months. Not with Lewis Mills having so much trouble with keeping their workers.
He flinched the slightest bit, or perhaps she'd only imagined it, and then he tipped his glass toward her before he took another drink. “Are you enjoying your work with Mrs. Carter and her … tenants?”
The way he curled the word turned Kizzie's stomach, and she already felt a little sick. The chicken pudding tasted delicious, so she hoped the nausea didn't originate from Mrs. Candler's excellent cooking.
Perhaps she was just tired.
Or sick of George Lewis’ glares.
She knocked the thought away.
Sorry, Lord.
“I've learned so much and am grateful for the position. She's a good businesswoman, and I'm happy to help her get her books back on track.”
“Books?” He lowered the glass, more slowly this time, and sat up.
“I'm her bookkeeper as well as shop assistant.”
“Kizzie's a wonder at numbers.” Victoria gestured for Mrs. Candler to bring in some sort of dessert. Kizzie's stomach took another turn. She frowned. She loved desserts.
“Gayle Carter raves about how Kizzie has already started to economize and get the finances of the store back on track after her husband's death.”
“It seems you've fallen on your feet,” Mr. Lewis said. “How convenient for you, given your newness to our town.”
Ooh, she didn't like him, and she had enough of her daddy in her to have to nearly bite her tongue in half to keep from showing that side.
“Why don't you tell us about your recent trip to Charlotte, George? Is it truly as large as people say?”
Mr. Lewis blabbered on about tall buildings and paved streets. About electric lights and buildings so tall a person could see the whole city from the top of them. The idea of folks crowded on top of each other like ants didn't entice Kizzie at all. Living on Main Street in The Hollows was as crowded as she cared to be. And someday, she hoped to live away from the town enough to have her own yard and garden. Space to breathe and a room with a view of the mountains.
Kizzie ate very little of her dessert. The sweet smell of the apples bothered her stomach for some reason, or perhaps it was just the presence of Mr. Lewis—she fetched Charlie from his nap.
