by Darrell Case
Chapter 13
Taking in her sixteen-year-old niece had stretched Gertrude Winters' strained budget to the breaking point. However, she never complained. She decided to ask the foreman at the sewing factory for more hours.
"You're the slowest one I got!" he said laughing. "You can barely keep up now."
"I must be sure each stitch will hold," Gertie explained.
"Well ya better do it faster iffen ya wanna keep yer job."
Gertie sadly turned to go.
"Want more work do ya?" the foreman said, "I'll pay ya a little more iffen you work the whole twelve hours without a break."
So for the next three years, Gertie sewed twelve hours a day, six days a week. Her hands and back ached. Her legs became heavy and numb in the drafty conditions in the winter. In summer, the heat pressed down like a heavy hand. At times the pain was almost unbearable, all the while the foreman yelled in the frail woman's ear. Each night she hobbled home, praying for something better for Victoria.
As she matured, Victoria realized the huge price her aunt paid to raise her brother's child. She vowed as soon as she grew to adulthood that she would pay back every cent Aunt Gertie had spent on her.
Victoria woke the next morning to sunlight streaming through the front window. As she stretched, she felt searing pains shoot up from her knees to her hips. Her knees ached from her fall the night before. Moaning aloud, she removed her covers and lifted her nightgown. Thankfully, she only had a few scratches; she would put some ointment on them this morning.
Gertie rose before daybreak, dressed, ate a cold biscuit with jam if she had it. She then walked the ten blocks to the factory. She never disturbed Victoria, leaving her to waken on her own.
Shivering, Victoria dressed quickly. The house was ice cold. As events of the past few days crept through her mind, tears slid down her cheeks. She had failed. Shoveling a few precious chunks of coal on top of the sleeping embers in the cook stove, Victoria carefully measured coffee into the pot. When she had a reasonable fire going, she sat the coffeepot on the stove.
A short time before she was offered the position in Pottsville, she had applied at the sewing factory. Gertie, a normally gentle soul, seldom became angry.
When she arrived home that night, she nearly exploded.
"Don't ever let me see you near that place again!" she said, her eyes glaring. "They treat women worse than animals. I promised your mother I would take care of you. I'll not have you working your fingers to the bone in some sweat shop."
"But Aunt Gertie, I just want to help." Victoria said, close to tears.
Softening, Gertie said. "I know dear and you will. But not by slaving in a sweatshop."
So the subject was forgotten and never mentioned by either woman again.
After eating a cold biscuit, Victoria set to work cleaning the house and washing the laundry. She had just taken down the clothing strung throughout the house when Gertie came home. They sat down to a meal of beans and cornbread which was the only food Victoria could find in the house.
Last night, after her aunt had bathed and applied ointment to her knees, Victoria confided in her about the events in Pottsville. The story came out haltingly at first but her account flowed easier when she realized Gertie's shocked expression wasn't directed at her but at the criminal behavior of Anderson and his crew.
Hugging Victoria to her, Gertie whispered comfort, just as she did when Victoria was a child.
That night, though exhausted, she slept a dreamless sleep. She awoke the next morning to a cloudy, cold Chicago day. The wind off the lake cut through the thin weatherboarding and made the house chilly.
If Anderson informed his banker friends, as he was sure to do, it would seal her fate with any school in Chicago. Each night as she lay in bed in her little back room in Pottsville, she had dreamed of bringing Aunt Gertie there. It would not have mattered. She knew Fred would never have stood for it. Next summer, she would try again in another town, one where they had never heard of Pottsville. However, for now she would find work even if she had to sell apples on the street! Pouring herself a cup of coffee, Victoria sat down at the table. It was then she noticed the slip of paper lying in front of her.
'Victoria, please don't worry. God has everything under control. Just trust Him. On my bed is enough material for a dress. You know where I keep the patterns. I'll be praying for you today. Love, Aunt Gertie. Romans 8:28'
Going to the closet in her room, Victoria took her mother's Bible from the shelf. Dusting it off, she opened it to Romans 8:28. 'And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.'
Bowing her head, she prayed, 'Lord, Aunt Gertie says your word is true. I don't know how you can make the things that have happened to me the last few days work for good, but please help me.'
She did not close her prayer; instead, she finished her coffee while leafing through the scriptures. Deeply involved, Victoria did not hear the knock at first. The dress lay around her in pieces, waiting to be sewn together.
At the second knock, she opened the door. In spite of her resolve of the night before, she was glad to see Adam.
"Reverend Wakefield. What a pleasant surprise, please come in," she said,
stepping aside.
Ducking his head, Adam entered the small living room.
"How are you this morning, Miss Winters?" he asked. He noticed her nervous and her flushed face.
"I apologize for my actions last night." Victoria said, dropping her eyes.
"That's quite all right, Victoria. I'm afraid I frightened you."
"Frightened me? I don't understand."
"When you fell, I tried to help you up."
Realization dawned on Victoria. She gasped.
"You followed me?" she said, her voice rising.
"I...I 'm sorry. I wanted to protect you," he said. He looked like a little boy caught with his hands in the cookie jar. As quickly as it came, her anger left her.
She smiled. "I'm in your debt, Adam."
Her use of his first name sent a thrill through his heart.
"Is your aunt home? I'd like to meet her."
"She's at the sewing factory. She will be home about half past 6."
He held the old leather hat by the brim. His fingers felt clammy cold. Why was he so fidgety around this woman? Over the years, he had dealt with many single women in his congregation but none were like this one.
"I hope she will attend the services at Market Street with you this Sunday."
Victoria smiled again, lighting up the drab room. Adam had an overpowering
urge to keep her smiling forever.
"Aunt Gertie dearly loves her little church so this will be a real sacrifice for her."
"Perhaps I could meet her pastor."
"I'm sure Pastor Clark would be delighted. He's quite a gentle little man."
"Is that your church also?"
Victoria looked uncomfortable. "I'm afraid I don't attend church as often as I should," she said.
Adam could not imagine not being in church each Sunday. He decided to change the subject. His gaze caught the pieces of material.
"Oh, you're making a dress. My mother is a seamstress."
"I'm not much good at sewing. My aunt is much better at it than I am. Would you like a cup of coffee?"
"That sounds great," Adam, said, taking off his coat. He
handed it and his hat to her.
Laying them on the couch, she led Adam to the kitchen.
Soon they were seated at the table, their hands wrapped around steaming mugs, chatting like old friends. The next two hours passed quickly.
Adam talked about growing up in Arkansas. Victoria related her years living
with her aunt. Adam wanted to ask about Pottsville but he restrained himself.
"Mr. Michaels is a very hard man to work for," Victoria said. "And his son isn't much better."
"You know them?" Adam asked.
'Yes," she said sadly. "He owns the factory where my aunt works."
When Victoria excused herself for a moment, Adam inspected the cupboards.
"Bare as Old Mother Hubbard's," he observed.
Victoria returned to an empty kitchen. He was gone. She chided herself. 'What did I say wrong? I talked too much. No one likes a chatty woman'. She tried to work on her dress but couldn't see for the tears dimming her eyes. Finally, she laid it aside and had a good cry. The small home echoed with her sobs.
Dusting one of the guestrooms, James heard noises coming from the kitchen. Listening, he heard the sound of pots and pans being moved around in the cabinets and doors being opened and shut. Only one other time had the parsonage been broken into. James had almost lost his position. The deacon board took his and his father's pay for a month to replace what was stolen.
Trembling, James crept down the stairs. He was not a fighting man but he would do whatever was necessary to protect the house. Peering around the corner, he saw Adam on his knees. He was placing food supplies in a large wooden box.
Glancing up, he saw the black man looking down at him, a confused look on his face.
"I thought you were a burglar."
"Well, I am stealing some of our food."
Standing up, Adam explained his mission to James. Soon they were on their way.
Victoria kept going over what she had said to Adam. "Surely I didn't offend him," she thought.
She tried to concentrate on the dress but finally put it away.
A movement on the porch caught her eye.
"Adam!" she exclaimed, throwing the door open.
"Victoria, this is my new friend, James Colburn. This is the young lady I was telling you about. Miss Victoria Winters."
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Colburn."
"Charmed, Miss Winters."
Both men were smiling, holding boxes overloaded with food.
RIVER OF FIRE