To Dream Again

by Laura Lee Guhrke

  Nathaniel leaned down and murmured over the boy's head, "You forgot to buy him underwear."

  A choked sound from the opposite side of the desk told her Michael was trying not to laugh. Mara felt her blush deepening. "Oh."

  His gaze held hers with an expression somewhere between a tease and a caress as he straightened. "Want to come with us?"

  She shook her head. "I still have some work to do here."

  "It's a Sunday afternoon," he reminded her and took Billy's hand. "Don't work too hard."

  "'Bye, ma'am," Billy called back with a wave as he and Nathaniel headed for the door. "'Bye, Michael."

  They left and she looked over at Michael, noticing the amusement in his eyes. "Don't say a word, Michael Lowenstein. Not a word."

  "I won't." His smile faded and a thoughtful expression took its place. "Billy Styles?" he asked. "Isn't his father—"

  "Calvin Styles is his father, yes."

  "I didn't know that." Michael frowned. "I don't mind having the boy around, Mara," he said, leaning back in his chair. "But do you think it's wise?"

  "Probably not," she admitted and lifted her hands in a gesture of frustration. "What else can we do? The boy is starving, not just for food, but for some attention and care. We can't just stand by and do nothing."

  Michael studied her across the desk. "You've changed," he said quietly.

  The change of subject caught her by surprise. "What?"

  He nodded. "Yes, you have. In the three months I've known you, you've changed a great deal. Don't misunderstand me, but you're not as hard as you were when we first met."

  She thought about it for a moment. "I suppose I have changed," she admitted. "I feel different. I feel..." She paused, trying to think of the right word. "I feel hopeful."

  "Nathaniel does bring out that sort of feeling in people; he inspires them. When he was at Chase, there wasn't a person there who didn't think he walked on water. It's hard to resist his enthusiasm, and he can be very persuasive when he chooses. Believe me, I know."

  Mara knew it, too. "You once worked for him, didn't you?"

  "Yes. Nathaniel hired me when he was chief engineer under his father. But when Gordon Chase died, Nathaniel’s brother took over and gave me the sack."

  "Why?"

  "I'm Jewish. Lord Leyland doesn't like Jews."

  "Couldn't Nathaniel stop him?"

  "I'm afraid not." Michael rose. "If we're finished here, I think I'll go on home. See you tomorrow?"

  She nodded, watching as Michael left, and she thought about what he had said. His words were nearly identical to what she had been thinking a few weeks before. There was a different sort of feeling in the air since Nathaniel had come, a sense of camaraderie, a spirit of hope and cooperation.

  She'd thought herself immune; she'd tried so hard to remain indifferent, but she had failed. Despite her resistance, Nathaniel had shown her that there was more to life than simply existing. Life was riddles to solve and surprise gifts to savor, poetry and music to hear, meteor showers to watch and toys to play with, stray kittens and children to be helped.

  Her smile faded. She could no longer imagine life without those things. She could not imagine life without Nathaniel. Like it or not, she was beginning to need him; she was beginning to depend on him. And that was what frightened her the most.

  ***

  Adrian glared at the three men seated at the opposite end of the conference table. "These sales figures are pathetic," he said, tossing down the report in his hands. "I thought I made myself perfectly clear three months ago, gentlemen. Sales were supposed to go up this quarter, not down."

  The men exchanged glances. One of them coughed nervously, then spoke. "Lord Leyland, the fact is that our sales representatives are still receiving complaints from customers about our products. Many are becoming concerned that our toys fall apart too easily. Charles Harrod himself—"

  "That is ridiculous," Adrian interrupted. "These are toys. Children play with them, they fall apart. Parents are supposed to buy new ones."

  "But they aren't buying ours," Mr. McGann pointed out. "The perception is that our quality is poor, and our toys aren't worth what we charge. I recommend we either improve quality or lower our prices."

  "Both of those solutions cost me money. Therefore, they are unacceptable. If perception is the problem, then our sales representatives need to change that perception. That is what they are paid for."

  "You can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear," McGann answered tartly.

  Adrian slammed his palms on the table and rose. "That will be enough, Mr. McGann. If you can't motivate your salesmen to do their job, I will hire a manager who will, and you will be seeking other employment. Is that clear?"

  McGann also rose to his feet, and the other two men followed suit. "Perfectly," the sales manager replied and walked out of the conference room, followed by the production supervisor and the chief engineer.

  "Idiots," Adrian muttered, sinking back into his chair. "I am surrounded by idiots."

  McGann and the others didn't understand his difficulties, and he had no intention of enlightening them. He knew perfectly well that he was cutting corners, but until he married Honoria in April, there was nothing else he could do. He could worry about improving quality when he had the money to do so. Until then, his staff would have to make do with the resources available.

  Charles Barrett appeared in the doorway, breaking into his speculations. "Sir, Mr. Rutherford is here for his meeting with you."

  "Ah, yes. I'll meet with him here. Show him in."

  The secretary nodded and departed. A few moments later, he reappeared with Owen Rutherford behind him. He showed the detective to the place vacated by McGann and withdrew, leaving the other two men alone.

  "Do you have any new information?" Adrian asked as the door closed.

  "A few interesting items," the detective replied, settling himself in his chair and opening his dispatch case. "You asked me to find out if your brother is experiencing any labor difficulties. I have been investigating the matter, and I must say that does not appear to be the case."

  "No difficulties at all?" Adrian found that hard to believe. Employees were always whining about low pay and long hours and unfair treatment.

  "There was one incident." Rutherford pulled out his notes and flipped through them until he found the item he wanted. "Yes, here it is. Mr. Chase fired a man for insubordination shortly after he bought into the company, a man by the name of Calvin Styles. It seems Mrs. Elliot gave the man an order, and he refused to obey her. He pushed her, and your brother intervened, striking Mr. Styles. He then fired him. The man made a few threats before he left, but nothing else seems to have come of it. That's the only thing I've been able to find that even remotely resembles a labor problem."

  He looked up from the notes. "Your brother seems to be well liked by everyone who works there. I heard many compliments about his abilities."

  Adrian didn't want to hear about Nathaniel's abilities. However, he found the information about Calvin Styles very valuable. Resting his elbows on the table, he clasped his hands together and rubbed one knuckle against his upper lip, lost in thought. Yes, he decided, this Styles fellow could prove to be a valuable pawn in the game. "Anything else?" he asked the detective. "What about his trains?"

  "They are planning to manufacture an electric train, just as you suspected," Rutherford answered. "I heard a great deal of talk about tracks and accessories and things."

  "Tracks and accessories?" Adrian lowered his hands and leaned forward. "What do you mean? Sectional track?"

  "I don't really know, sir. I'm afraid what I've been told is pretty vague at this point. I'll be able to tell you more once they begin manufacturing this train."

  "What about his suppliers? Have you learned who he's buying from?"

  "Yes, sir." The detective turned a page of his notes and began to read a list of names. "For tin, Halston's. For brass, Conklin's Brass Works. Since it is an electric train, I a
ssumed batteries were involved, so I spoke with battery manufacturers as well. Harvey & Peak is supplying those."

  Rutherford paused for breath, and he took the opportunity to interrupt. "Very well, Mr. Rutherford," he said and rose to his feet, indicating the meeting was at an end. "Leave me the list, if you please."

  The detective placed the list of suppliers on the table, then also stood up. "I'll let you know when I have more information."

  "Do that. I want to know details about that train of his. Do some more investigating, talk to people, learn everything you can."

  The detective nodded. "It shouldn't be difficult. It's amazing what people will tell a perfect stranger after they've had a few pints in the pub."

  Adrian gave him a hard stare. "I don't need to remind you to be discreet, do I, Mr. Rutherford?"

  "I am always discreet, sir." With that, the detective departed.

  ***

  Billy was proud of his new clothes. When he walked up Whitechapel High Street toward the factory the following afternoon, he couldn't help swaggering a little. He'd never had a set of brand new clothes before, and he planned to take good care of them, just as he'd promised Mrs. Elliot.

  After Nathaniel took him home the night before, he had carefully folded them just the way his mum used to make him, and placed them under his cot along with his boots and socks. He had crawled into bed in his new underwear and stared up at the ceiling after Nathaniel had gone. As usual, his father hadn't come home until the pubs closed. By then, Billy had been fast asleep, exhausted after his exciting day with Nathaniel.

  They had gone to Cheapside and purchased his underwear, just as they'd told Mrs. Elliot they would do, then Nathaniel had found a wool jacket and cap to match the trousers she had bought him. When they finished shopping, Nathaniel had purchased meat pies and a sack of cherries from a coster, and they'd sat on the docks, spitting out cherry pits and seeing who could spit them farthest as they watched the ships go up and down the river.

  Then they'd gone to Lincoln's Inn Fields and watched the men play football. Nathaniel had been dragged into the game. He'd scored a goal and they'd celebrated with ice cream. Yesterday had been a smashing good day.

  Billy grinned, thinking about it. He turned down the alley by the factory, but came to a halt at the sight of the three boys playing marbles beside the fire escape. His cheerful mood evaporated, and he wondered if he ought to go in by the front doors, when the other boys caught sight of him.

  "Well, what ‘ave we 'ere?" Jimmy Parks jumped to his feet and pulled the cigarette out of his mouth, then came toward him, followed by Davy Boggs and Hal Seaford. "Look at this, lads. Billy Styles all fancied up."

  Billy took a wary step back, but he couldn't make a run for it now. That would be cowardly. He stood his ground as Jimmy halted in front of him.

  Tossing down the cigarette, Jimmy looked him up and down. "Spotty Face 'as some new clothes," he said to the other two boys. "Gettin' above 'imself, don't ye think?"

  Davy put a hand on Jimmy's arm. "Leave 'im be."

  "Sod off, Boggs." Jimmy pushed away the hand on his arm and pointed to the cap on Billy's head. "That looks like me cap what I lost the other day." His eyes challenged Billy. "I think 'e stole it."

  "I did not." Billy pulled the cap further down on his head and tried to go around the older boy, but Jimmy stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

  "I want me cap."

  "It ain't yers." Billy felt the sickening familiar knot of fear in his guts. He tried again to walk past, but once again the older boy stepped in front of him. "Leave me alone."

  Jimmy laughed and glanced at the other two boys. "Did ye 'ear that? 'e's givin' orders now."

  "Gettin' bossy, ain't 'e?" Hal chimed in, but he kept his distance.

  Jimmy snatched the cap from Billy's head and gave him a shove, sending him stumbling backward. "Seaford's right. Ye gots t'be taken down a peg."

  Billy recovered his balance and tried to grab his cap. "It's mine."

  "Is not." Jimmy stepped aside, easily avoiding Billy.

  He settled the cap on his head. "See, it is me cap. Fits me perfect."

  It didn't. It was too small for Jimmy, and all of them knew it, but Billy also knew it didn't matter. What Jimmy wanted, Jimmy took. Billy reached for it again. "Give it back!"

  Jimmy ducked to the side, avoiding his grab. He jabbed one fist into Billy's stomach, causing him to double over and brought his other fist down on his neck, driving him to his knees. Then Jimmy settled the too-small cap atop his head as best he could, turned, and walked away, whistling.

  Billy lifted his head and watched him go, misery and anger bubbling up inside him. The sight of the cap Nathaniel had bought him on Jimmy Parks's head was too much to bear. With a cry of outrage, he jumped up and threw himself at the other boy. He tackled Jimmy and sent both of them sprawling. The cap went flying. Davy and Hal scrambled to get out of the way.

  "Get off me, ye bloody bastard!" Jimmy cried, struggling to turn onto his back beneath the weight of the other boy.

  "It's me cap!" Billy shouted and pummeled Jimmy with his fists. "Ye can't 'ave it."

  Jimmy succeeded in turning onto his back. He grabbed Billy and rolled so that he was on top, then began punching the smaller boy in the face, the ribs, and the belly, anywhere he could reach.

  Billy howled and cursed, struggling as best he could, but he was no match for the larger boy. Jimmy gave him one last punch in the stomach, then jumped to his feet. Breathing hard, he scowled down at Billy. "It's me cap, Spotty Face, an' yer lucky I ain't goin' to kill ye for tryin' t'steal it."

  He gave Billy a final kick in the ribs, snatched the cap

  from the ground, and walked over to the fire escape to grab his set of marbles. Hal followed. Davy hesitated, staring down at Billy. "C'mon, Boggs," Jimmy shouted. "Let's go." Davy muttered a curse and turned away, leaving Billy Styles sprawled on the cobblestones, sobbing and alone.

  Chapter Twenty

  Billy did not come to the factory that afternoon. It was the first day in over a month that the boy had not visited them, and when one o'clock came and he still had not put in an appearance, Mara became concerned.

  She set aside the budget she was working on and went in search of Nathaniel, hoping the boy was with him. She found him on the mezzanine, leaning over the rail, looking down at the production floor. She paused, studying him for a moment. She saw him nod and lift one hand in a beckoning gesture, and she knew he was giving instructions to the men below.

  His waistcoat was off, and the sunlight from the windows behind him caught his shirt as he raised his arm to gesture to the men, giving her a translucent glimpse of his lean torso beneath the white linen. She caught her breath, remembering how he had looked with no shirt at all, remembering the smooth skin and the sculptured muscles that lay beneath his shirt, and she involuntarily stretched out one hand as if to touch him.

  "Leave it there!" he shouted, jarring Mara out of her reverie, and she suddenly felt foolish. She walked over to him, reminding herself of her reason for coming down here.

  He gave a thumbs-up sign to the men below as she came up to stand beside him, and she glanced down to see Michael mirror the gesture. "You're moving some of the equipment," she remarked in surprise, watching as the men grasped the heavy ropes that dangled from pulleys on the ceiling beam and began securing hooks to one of the steam engines.

  "We thought it might be better to have the soldering done on the other side of the boilers," he explained, "so we have to move the steam engines a bit closer to the mezzanine."

  She watched as the men used the winches to raise the engine off the ground, and she nodded in agreement as they swung the engine into place and lowered it again. "That will work much better." She looked up at him again. "Nathaniel, have you seen Billy?"

  He gave her a surprised glance. "He's not with you?"

  "No. I was hoping he was with you."

  Nathaniel shook his head. "I haven't seen him at all today
."

  "He's been here every day by quarter past twelve," she pointed out. "It's after one o'clock and he hasn't arrived yet."

  "It's after one?" He noticed the worried frown between her brows. "Michael asked me for some help with this, and I didn't realize the time. Give me a minute, and I'll go see if I can find him."

  "Thank you. I may be worrying about nothing. He's probably out playing with his friends or something like that."

  Nathaniel doubted it. Billy was so much like he had been at that age, and he would have bet the boy didn't make friends easily. But he didn't voice his thoughts aloud. "Probably."

  A short time later, after walking to Billy's tenement and not finding him there, Nathaniel began searching the nearby streets, but without success. He started back, looking down each alley he passed, but it was in the alley right next to Elliot's where he finally found the boy.

  Billy was sitting on the bottom step of the fire escape, his legs dangling over the edge. He heard Nathaniel approach and lifted his head. Nathaniel came closer and saw the dark purple shadow beneath Billy's eye that blended into the birthmark on his cheek. He also saw the cut on his lip.

  "What happened?" he asked, noting that Billy's new clothes were covered with dirt, and one sleeve of his shirt was torn.

  "What ye think?" The boy's eyes were filled with pain and frustration.

  "Mmm." Nathaniel looked down at him, knowing there was nothing he could say to make the boy feel any better. So he didn't try to comfort him. He just stepped closer. "Move over."

  Billy scooted a bit to the left, and Nathaniel climbed the short ladder of the fire escape to sit beside him on the bottom step.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Billy and waited. It wasn't long before the boy brought up the subject.

  "Why are they so mean?" he asked.

  "I don't know," Nathaniel answered truthfully. He was over two decades older than the child beside him, but he still hadn't figured out the answer to that question, and it was one he'd asked himself hundreds of times.