She pursed her lips into a cynical moue. “Yes. I heard his remark that even a woman could do it.” With a glib shrug, she pushed off from the wall and opened the door. The factory noises assaulted them, and as she began moving down the stairs, she raised her voice to be heard over the wheeze and rattle of machinery. “So he’d be open to my application?”
Oliver trailed alongside her, his gaze locked on her profile. Her rosy lips were set in a determined line that contrasted with the soft curve of her round cheek. She was hardly a petite woman—full figured although far from plump. The top of her head reached the underside of his nose, and he stood an inch above six feet. Despite her stature and strong nature, he still desired to protect her. He’d never met a woman who inspired so many conflicting emotions.
He pushed past his musings to answer her question as they moved across the busy floor to the loading tables. “I don’t see why not. But I’m curious why you’d want it. Craters earn less than toters, and the night shift is the least desirable of the three shifts.”
“I have my reasons.” A little pigtailed girl carrying a bag of sugar staggered into their path, and Carrie stopped abruptly to avoid running the child down. She stared after the girl for a moment and then spun on him. “Besides, if I take it, some hapless child will be spared the task of hammering tacks into boards when he should be sleeping.”
Her adamancy sent him backward a step. He raised his eyebrows and peered at her, unblinking.
“Are you aware, Ollie, that this factory hires a greater percentage of child workers than any other factory in the state of Kansas?”
Of course he was aware. He and Father had discussed the situation at length, and he was proud of their inclusion of younger workers.
Her eyes blazed as passion ignited her features. “One-third of the workers here are under the age of sixteen. One-third!” Throwing her hands outward, she glowered at him. “Boys who should be sitting in a schoolhouse, dipping some little girl’s braid into the inkwell, are instead stacking crates or pushing a broom. Girls who should be making sheep’s eyes at the boys are wrapping chocolates with gold foil or sprinkling nuts on the tops of candies. Sprinkling nuts, for heaven’s sake!”
Defensiveness tiptoed through Oliver’s center, and he found his voice. “Making sheep’s eyes at some boy on the opposite side of the schoolroom is more important than earning a wage?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t be facetious.”
“I’m not. You said girls should be making sheep’s eyes instead of working.” He slipped his hand into his pocket and leaned his weight on one hip, assuming a casual position that belied the tightness in his chest. “Working gives them a means of providing for themselves or helping their families. Working teaches them a skill they can use well into adulthood. Working—”
“Working steals everything that is precious!” Carrie’s voice rose, and several workers paused to look in their direction. Oblivious to the curious gazes, she continued her emotional tirade. “The hours they spend on the factory floor rob them of the opportunity for an education. When they leave the factory, they’re so tired they don’t want to play. Their lives become a drudgery of work, sleep, work, sleep, and one day they awaken in a grown-up, exhausted body, wondering why they feel so much older than their years.” She gestured to the bustling floor at large, her trembling hands pointing toward one work station and then another. “What kind of future does this promise to them, Ollie? Tell me that.”
Her impassioned plea moved him. He wouldn’t deny a rush of feeling. But did he agree with her? No. His father provided a service to the families of Sinclair by allowing children to earn a wage and learn a craft. Many of the youngsters pushing a broom today would be the ones tomorrow creating new flavors of candies or traveling to distant places to sell Dinsmore’s chocolates in new marketplaces. Their lives would be enriched by the opportunities offered at the factory.
He said staunchly, “A bright one.”
Her face crumpled. The depth of disappointment reflected in her deep brown eyes pierced him. But he believed what he’d said, and he wouldn’t change it. These children’s lives would be better because he and his father were willing to teach them a skill. Remove children from the roster of workers? He had no intention of doing so.
Caroline
Caroline battled the desire to cry. Why did Ollie’s words hurt so much? “A bright one,” he’d said, completely sure of himself and yet so wrong. Why couldn’t he see the harm done to these little ones forced to labor away the most tender years of their lives? Memories from her childhood rose up to haunt her—memories of such tiredness her very bones ached, of hunger that was never satisfied, of stinging blows across her shoulders from the master’s rod when she made a mistake. Painful, bitter memories. She wanted so much more for the children of this community. And, admittedly, she wanted Ollie to want more for the children, too.
Defeated, she spoke stiffly. “Please inform Mr. Hightower of my interest in the position as crater.”
“Carrie, I—”
She ignored him and scurried to her work station. Over the remainder of the day, Ollie repeatedly moved into her line of vision, his expression pleading. But each time she steadfastly pretended he wasn’t there. She had a job to do, and he’d already stolen too much of her focus. Now that he’d made clear his position on child workers, he’d given her the impetus she needed to turn her attention fully to the job Noble had sent her to do.
When she clocked out at the end of her shift, she headed for the job board to see if the third-shift crater positions had been posted. To her surprise, Letta waited in the rectangle of shade cast by the board. The girl’s eyes were red rimmed, and rivulets carved by tears decorated her thin, dirty cheeks. Concern immediately rose in Caroline’s breast. She hurried to the distraught child.
“Letta, what is it? What’s wrong?”
“It’s my pa, Miss Carrie. He’s terrible sick. Burning up with fever an’ hurtin’ bad in his gut. I stayed home with him today an’ took care of him, but he needs doctorin’. Real doctorin’. But he …” Letta gulped, fresh tears raining down her face. “He says we don’t got money for a doctor. I don’t know what to do.” The girl began to wail.
Caroline took the girl’s hand. “Now don’t worry. I’m sure he—”
“Carrie?” Ollie stepped up beside her, his gaze sweeping from Letta to Caroline. “What’s the trouble?”
Caroline gave Letta’s hand a little tug, guiding her toward the road. “Nothing over which you need concern yourself.”
Letta called in a wobbly voice, “My pa’s real sick.”
Ollie caught up to them. “Should I summon the factory’s physician?”
Caroline sent a startled frown in Ollie’s direction. His kindness touched her, but something about his query raised questions in the back of her mind. How many factory workers used the word summon?
Letta turned hopeful eyes on Caroline. “Oh, please, Miss Carrie. Can he fetch the doc? I’d feel so much better if a real doctor looked at Pa.” Her brow puckered. “But would he come? That doc’s for factory workers, an’ Pa … Pa don’t work at the factory.”
Ollie touched Letta’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll bring him.” As if suspecting her desire to flee, he pinned Caroline with a stern gaze. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
Letta shifted from foot to foot, gnawing her thumbnail to the quick, while factory workers filed past. Caroline considered ignoring Ollie’s demand and hurrying off to Letta’s house without him, but concern about the seriousness of the father’s illness held her in place. If the factory doctor was willing to offer his services, she should allow him to do so for Letta’s sake.
Only a few minutes had ticked by when Ollie came trotting toward them. A man in a brown three-piece suit, with a gold watch chain looped from vest pocket to pocket, followed close behind him.
Ollie gestured toward the man. “This is Doctor Ernst. He said he’d come with us.”
Us? When had Ollie
become a party to the errand? Caroline opened her mouth to protest.
“But we must hurry.” The doctor patted the bulging pocket holding his watch. “I’m on call and shouldn’t be away from my post for more than an hour.”
Arguing would only waste precious minutes needed for Letta’s father. Caroline gave a nod. “This way.”
Letta set a quick pace. The men followed closely, their thudding footsteps loud. Caroline sensed Ollie’s gaze on the back of her head, but she kept her eyes aimed ahead. When they reached Letta’s house, the girl darted across the bare yard to the sagging porch. Without a backward glance, she flung open the door and ran inside. Caroline and the two men entered the dark house behind her.
A foul stench greeted them. Caroline covered her nose with her hand and ducked aside. Very little sunlight penetrated the pair of dust-coated windows, and no lantern lit the space. But she made out the dark shape of an open doorway on the right beyond a spattering of sad, worn furniture. Labored breathing could be heard from the opening. The doctor pushed past Caroline and disappeared into the room.
Ollie strode after the doctor. Before he stepped through the doorway, he glanced back at Caroline. “Aren’t you coming?”
The odor—the combination of something rotting and body excrement—made her dizzy. Unwelcome memories crowded to the forefront of her mind. How could a mere scent, no matter how unpleasant, conjure such sharp images? She shook her head. “I’ll wait outside.”
“Letta might need you.”
Ollie’s reminder stirred Caroline’s sympathy, but she wouldn’t enter that room. She couldn’t face the ugly reminders of her past. “Tell her where I am.” She dashed out the door before guilt drove her across the threshold of Mr. Holcomb’s bedroom.
Caroline
Wild crying came from the house—Letta, obviously in great distress.
Caroline spun from her perch on the edge of the porch and looked toward the open doorway. Should she go to the girl? She pressed her palms to the porch boards with the intention of pushing herself upright, but her fingers curled around the splintery ends and held tight. She could not enter that house with its foul essence of her childhood nightmares. Hanging her head, she sent up a silent petition for the Lord to offer Letta the comfort she could not.
The patter of feet captured Caroline’s attention. Two boys in tattered clothing galloped toward the house. Their red hair and freckled faces identified them as Letta’s younger brothers. She jumped up and waylaid them at the edge of the yard.
“Who are you?” the smaller of the pair asked, squinting up at Caroline.
“I’m Letta’s friend Carrie Lang.”
“You the one makin’ Letta go to school?”
Although Caroline wasn’t forcing Letta to attend school, she nodded anyway. “That’s right.”
The boys exchanged a disgusted look. The older one grimaced. The smaller one—apparently the self-appointed spokesman—crossed his arms over his chest and stated, “That Letta, she’s got real bossy since she started goin’ to school. Makes us sit an’ write our letters every night. I don’t much like it.”
Caroline clasped her hands. “Oh, but learning is a wonderful thing. You should thank Letta for teaching you.” She offered a smile but received only scowls in reply. She sighed. “What are your names?”
“I’m Lesley,” the younger one said. He poked his thumb at his brother. “This here is Lank.”
Lank swung a bulging burlap sack gently to and fro in his clenched fist, making its contents clank.
Lesley beamed. “Did real good today with our tin collectin’. Pa oughta be happy. Gonna go show him. C’mon, Lank.”
The pair started to push past her, but Caroline stopped them with her extended hand. “Wait, boys. You can’t go in yet.”
Two dirty faces glared up at her. “Why not?” Lesley asked.
“Because a doctor is in there with your pa, and he needs it to be quiet.” Lesley stamped his bare foot against the ground. “But it’s gettin’ on to suppertime. Didn’t have us no lunch ’cept for some jerked beef Lank snitched from a cart. I’m wantin’ to eat.”
Caroline nibbled her lip. The doctor had said he wouldn’t stay long, but if Mr. Holcomb was desperately ill—and Letta’s wails seemed to indicate he fared poorly—it might be quite a while before she could allow the boys to go inside. She reached into her pocket and removed the little notepad and pencil she always carried.
“I tell you what we’ll do. I’ll leave a note here for Mr. Moore so he can tell Letta where to find you. You can leave your bag of tin by the porch, and I’ll take the two of you to a little café for supper.” Kesia would welcome these dirty boys as exuberantly as she had the scraggly alley cat.
Lesley’s fine red eyebrows shot high. “A café? Really an’ truly? Ain’t never ate in a café before.” Then the child’s bright countenance faded. “But we don’t got money to be buyin’ supper in a café.”
Lank gave a scowling nod. He collared his brother and pushed him toward the porch.
Once more Caroline stepped into their pathway. Hands on her hips, she pinned them with a stern frown. “You are not going into that house until the doctor says it is safe. Your father could have any number of illnesses—measles, diphtheria, scarlet fever …” She searched for more examples. “The mange.”
The boys’ eyes grew round. Lesley nudged his brother with his elbow. “Saw a dog with the mange once, Lank. It was purely awful.”
Caroline nodded. “That’s right. And you could get it, too, from being in there with him.” She shrugged, stepping aside. “But if you’d rather catch the mange than go get some supper with me, then—”
Lank tossed the bag toward the porch. It hit the foundation and rolled with a clatter.
“We’ll go with you,” Lesley said. “I’m not wantin’ the mange.”
Caroline hid a smile. “Very well.” She quickly wrote a note informing Ollie she’d taken the boys to the Durham Café and instructing him to bring Letta there. She slipped the note under the door and hurried back to Lesley and Lank. Pressing her palms to their backs, she ushered them toward town.
Caroline rested her chin in her hand and watched Kesia fuss over the boys. Although they barely glanced at her—their focus was on their plates of roasted wild turkey, cornbread dressing, and golden cooked carrots—the older woman showed no resentment for their lack of appreciation. She refilled their glasses with milk, spooned more gravy over their dressing, and tucked napkins more securely under their chins, all the while smiling, as if catering to a pair of dirty urchins gave her great pleasure.
The men seated at the counter kept a wide berth from the boys, however. Caroline couldn’t blame them. Lank and Lesley probably hadn’t bathed in a month. Letta wouldn’t think to make them, and no boy their age would give himself a bath. But as soon as they’d finished eating, Caroline intended to fill the elongated tub at the end of the hallway for their use. They would complain, no doubt, but she’d win. This pair of red-headed scamps would go home clean if she had to wrestle them into the water.
Kesia removed the boys’ empty plates and returned with wedges of buttermilk pie dusted with nutmeg. Lesley licked his lips and jabbed his fork through the creamy filling. At the first bite he closed his eyes and murmured, “Mmm.”
Kesia grinned, her eyes sparkling. “You like it?”
“I sure do.” Lesley forked up another huge bite. “Best pie I ever ate.”
Lank dug into his pie, too, but he remained silent. Caroline had quickly discovered Lank allowed Lesley to do most of the talking. Whether the older boy was shy or distrustful, she hadn’t determined. But she suspected, given time, Kesia would win him over. The woman surely possessed the kindest heart in Kansas.
The boys finished their pie, and Caroline dropped several coins into the bucket to pay for their meals. She headed toward the pair to inform them where they were going next as Kesia delivered a large chunk of moist-looking cake to one of the other diners, and Lesley leaned ove
r the counter to keep sight of the speckled plate.
Kesia caught him gawking and laughed. “You wantin’ some of my good apple-walnut cake, Lesley?”
Lesley bounced on his stool. “Uh-huh!”
Kesia turned to Lank. “What about you?”
Lank merely shrugged, his head low.
Kesia patted Lank’s shoulder. “I’ll getcha some. You just sit tight.” She headed for the kitchen.
Caroline eased back onto the stool, chuckling to herself. She hoped she had enough money in her purse to pay for all the food these two could consume. They acted as if they hadn’t eaten in years. But she wouldn’t deny them, no matter how much they wanted to eat. She’d never wish hunger on a child. Not even a silent, unappreciative one like Lank.
Just as Kesia set the cake plates in front of the boys, the door opened, and Ollie came in. His serious expression raised a swell of apprehension. Caroline told the boys, “Stay here and eat your cake. I’ll be right back.” She hurried across the floor to meet Ollie. “Where’s Letta?”
“At the hospital with her pa. She wouldn’t leave.”
Caroline’s heart leaped. “You had to take him to the hospital? It’s that bad?”
Ollie nodded grimly. “Doc Ernst says his appendix burst. He might not make it.” His gaze shifted to the red-headed pair hunched over their cake plates. “Not sure what to do with those two. They can’t go back to an empty house by themselves. Letta said they don’t have any kin here in town—their closest relation is an aunt who lives near Baldwin City.” He scratched his head, setting his cap askew. “They haven’t seen her for a couple of years at least, according to Letta, but I suppose we could wire the woman and then put the boys on a train.”
A knot of sympathy tightened Caroline’s throat, nearly strangling her. She wrung her hands. “Do they even know this aunt? What if they don’t want to go?”
Echoes of Mercy: A Novel Page 9