If his mother, who had never been wealthy, could throw away her family when things got difficult, it was too much to ask of Marianne. “What about David?”
She sighed and put a hand on his arm. “He knows I’m in love with you. That’s partly why he left, to allow you to forget about him and start thinking about you and me.”
He had? Had David been thinking straight?
“He’s willing to stand beside you and be your best man in front of all of Kansas City, if you wish.”
A year ago, David had mentioned he wished his father would stop pushing him at Marianne, but Calvin had chalked that up to their being young. David might not be head over heels for Marianne, but the second he lost her, he’d realize they were meant for each other just as their parents believed.
“I . . .” His words failed him at the soft look in Marianne’s dusky blue eyes.
“I trust you to provide, Calvin. I realize you can’t do so in the same fashion as my father, but I’m all right with that. But more importantly, I trust God to take care of me.” She took his hand and squeezed it. “I’ll be back tomorrow.” She let her fingers slide down his and then turned to walk up the embankment. When she disappeared behind the corner of the house, he walked slowly over to the trellis and counted all the varied lengths of string.
He fingered the last one he could find. Twenty-two. A sad smile upturned his lips. She was more tenacious than he’d thought.
If they were tied together, how could he be assured that when hard times came, their knot would prove tighter than the one that had let his father and mother slip away from each other?
Chapter
8
With both bosses out of town, Calvin had ample time to get his work finished, but finding the ability to focus was nearly impossible. He pinched the bridge of his nose and rested his head against his hand.
He’d not talked to Marianne for four days, but he’d seen her in the crowds around Liscombe Mills twice.
And each day there was another string tied to his trellis.
His mother had never even sent him a letter.
If only he could talk to David. He had tried to write him to confirm that his boss and friend had encouraged Marianne to pursue him, for if anyone knew what they faced, David did. But words had failed him, for even if David had left to give him time to woo Marianne, that didn’t mean marrying her was wise.
But if none of the things he worried about ever happened . . . ?
Oh, it had been a mistake to touch her. The feeling of Marianne’s skin on the pads of his fingers had yet to fade. He could swear he could still feel how soft she was, like down from a pillow, and the smell of her had been like . . .
He sniffed the air. The smell of smoke kept him from remembering.
Had one of the gas lamps he’d turned up against the overcast day malfunctioned? He got up and peeked into Mr. Kingsman’s and David’s offices, then stopped short after a glimpse out the front window. Columns of smoke billowed against the sky. He raced over to the glass and nearly cursed under his breath as he watched people leave the mill en masse. The muffled sounds of worry and the crackle of the cotton mill’s timbers going up in flame stole his breath.
Pressing his face against the windowpane, he searched the scattering crowd as they parted for the horse-drawn fire engine rushing through.
Marianne was nowhere in sight. She was likely out there. However, he couldn’t stand there with nothing but hope. He raced to the outer hallway and zipped past the other businessmen who’d left their offices to see what was happening.
He hit the downstairs door running but was stopped by a wall of humanity. How was he going to find her if everyone was standing around gaping?
“Marianne!” he hollered, knowing full well there were probably many Mariannes in the crowd and she was unlikely to hear him. He headed toward a redheaded girl. He grabbed her shoulder, startling her.
She wasn’t the girl who’d walked with Marianne the other day, but he’d ask her all the same. “Have you seen Marianne Lister?”
The girl shook her head, so he raced toward the low stone wall surrounding the Liscombe complex. He darted through the crowd and leapt onto the partition. She didn’t appear to be on the street or the road leading to the main gate. Surely she wouldn’t have gone home without stopping to assure him she was all right.
Though, of course, he had no right to be the first to know she was well—but surely she’d know he’d be panicking.
Because if he lost her . . .
He ran down the wall, glancing both right and left, trying to keep track of all the brown-headed women, seeking the familiar redhead, anything that might help him find Marianne.
He didn’t really need to see her, if he could just be assured she was all right.
Or maybe he did need to see her, to hear her, to hold her, to crush her to himself and insist she stop working in a place fraught with danger. Fires were rare, but he’d heard of one too many who’d lost limbs or fingers in the machinery, of workers who’d gotten their hair or skirts tangled in whatever contraptions they ran.
And he was the reason Marianne was here.
Ah! The redhead. The woman probably loathed her bright orange hair, but it was a godsend. He jumped down and pushed his way toward her.
She’d exited with a bunch of other girls, most of them crying, but none of them Marianne.
Once within shouting distance, he hollered out for her, “Miss!” Oh, what was her name? The closer he got to the building, the more his nostrils filled with smoke. The fire in the southeast section was gaining momentum and ferocity, but it seemed the firefighters were keeping it from spreading.
“Miss!” he called out again, but the bell of a second fire engine drowned out his words. He kept looking around for Marianne but saw no one who looked at all like her. “Miss!”
He forced his way through the group of girls surrounding the carrot top. The blonde she comforted was one of the sisters Marianne had introduced him to.
“Miss.” He grabbed her arm, and she tugged away. “Miss!” He grabbed for her arm again. “Have you seen Marianne Lister?”
She looked at him, a spark of recognition formed in her eyes, and she calmed. She shook her head and turned to the woman beside her, who was coughing. “Wasn’t Marianne with you?”
The blonde nodded, then coughed again. “I couldn’t find Ruth. Marianne told me she’d find her.”
“Ruth?” He scanned the crowd as if he could locate someone with nothing more than a name. “Where is Ruth?”
“I don’t know,” the woman cried, panic in her voice. “She told me she was going to get Edith, though I told her not to.”
“What does she look like?”
“She’s just ten, blond hair and skinny.”
He darted off, going against the current of people that slowed once they’d exited the building. “Ruth!” How he wished she was a bright redhead, for half of these women seemed to be blond and skinny. But ten years old was at least something to go on. “Marianne! Ruth!”
“Ho there!” A brick wall of a man stepped in front of him and stopped him with two meaty paws around his upper arms. “Don’t you be rushing in there.”
“I think my . . . my friend is still in there.” He tried to step out of the man’s vise grip, but the man was twice his size and obviously did more manual labor than he.
“Now, you leave the rescuing to the firefighters. ’Sides, everyone I know’s leaving. He or she ain’t in there dillydallying, waiting for you to come and get ’em out.”
“Please.” He reached up and peeled the man’s fingers back from his arm. “I need to find her.”
“She’s likely already out, lad. Take a look around.”
“I have.” He tore himself free and raced for the doors she’d run to only days ago when he’d disappointed her. With only a hundred feet left before he got there, Marianne tumbled out the door, along with tendrils of smoke that flew up over the top of the doorway and rushed past the mil
l’s stone walls toward the dark gray sky overhead. Beside her, a girl cradled her arm and cried loudly. However, Marianne wasn’t doing much to comfort her, for she was coughing and hobbling herself.
He raced to meet them and swallowed Marianne up against himself.
She coughed near his ear, making him wince. He pulled back and nearly dragged Marianne and the girl to the side of the path, toward an oak tree that was far enough away that only floating ash accosted them.
He helped them slump to the ground against the trunk. He kneeled and put his hand against Marianne’s cheek, but she turned her head away from his touch to look at the girl. “I think her arm’s broken.” Marianne coughed again. “Help her.”
Did Marianne think he knew what to do with broken bones?
Nevertheless, she was feisty enough to be ordering him around, but the girl was hysterical.
Without getting up, he sidled over, shushing as he came closer. “Where are you hurt?”
The girl just continued crying.
“I found her under a machine.” Marianne scooted closer. “I think it got knocked over in people’s panic to get out.”
“This is Ruth, then?”
Marianne nodded, and he swept the girl’s hair away from her flushed face. “It’s all right. You’re alive, and we’ll get someone to take care of your arm. Is that all that hurts?”
The girl didn’t stop her wailing, but she nodded a little.
He took her arm as gently as he could and thankfully saw no blood, but her overly pained expression made him place her arm gingerly back in her lap. He stood and waved his arms above his head. “Is there a doctor here?” He glanced around and spied the redhead. “I found Ruth!”
A man in a navy sack suit arrived before the redhead. “Did you call for a doctor?”
“Yes.” He squatted back beside the young girl. “She’s hurt her arm, pinned under something evidently, but Marianne got her out.”
The young blond man knelt beside the girl just as the redhead and several other women surrounded them.
“Oh, Ruth, we’re so glad you’re all right.”
“Did you find Edith?”
“Are you hurt?”
Calvin turned to Marianne, who was still coughing, and held out his hands to help her up. Once she stood, he pulled her against him and held on tight.
He shouldn’t be surprised Marianne would go back in for someone, but it was all he could do not to yell at her for it.
She doubled over, her coughs wracking her whole body.
“Are you all right?”
Another man came up beside him, this one old enough to be a grandfather many times over. “Did someone call for a doctor?”
“I did, but he’s already attending the girl.”
“So you weren’t calling for her?” He moved toward Marianne and put a hand on her shoulder. “How long were you in the smoke?”
She wheezed, trying to clear her throat, only to cough again. “I don’t know, not too long.”
The man held her wrist for a minute as Marianne coughed intermittently. After a quick barrage of questions that encompassed everything from muscle fatigue to headaches, he released her. He turned and pointed toward a wagon near the front gate. “I want you to get her to that vehicle there. Dr. Costa is taking care of those who’ve breathed in enough smoke to be concerning.”
“How concerning?” Calvin slipped his arm under her shoulder as she coughed again.
“She’s in the open air, so that’s good. He’ll listen to her lungs for a bit, might give her something to put some air in her stomach, cause her to vomit anything unwholesome. Maybe a stimulant.” He patted his shoulder. “Just help her over there. He’ll reexamine her and decide.” The doctor then forged back into the crowd.
Calvin rubbed her back as she coughed again. She started in the direction of the wagon, and he fought to keep from yanking her to a standstill and holding her again. “You’ll be all right.” She had to be.
“I’m sure I will.” She stopped to cough, and he continued patting her back, though it probably did no good. “Thank you for coming for me.”
He tucked her closer as they started back up the slight incline. Her coughs were slowing. That had to be good, yes? “Please tell me you’ll go home now. Your home. Quit this job and be safe.”
“Have I changed your mind about us, then?” She looked over at him with such hope that even her next round of coughs didn’t dim the light in her eyes.
How was he to answer that when his thoughts were in such upheaval? Had she changed his mind? Some. Enough to get down on one knee and propose?
“I can see the answer is still no.” She coughed again, but this time less forcefully. “In that case, I’ll come back tomorrow and help clean up.”
He looked over his shoulder, and indeed, the firefighters pumping water from the nearby creek were shrinking the fire enough that the whole building wouldn’t be a loss. “You mean to tell me this hasn’t changed your mind?”
“No.” She cleared her throat a few times, the cough she was likely suppressing roughening her words. “Nothing besides you choosing to love another would make me change my mind. Besides, I’ve done some good here.”
He pulled her to a stop. “I can’t lie and say I’m not extremely . . . lucky to have your love, but I’m just an ordinary man. Nothing to interest a woman of quality like you. You could have your pick of suitors—your beauty, name, and sweet disposition could unite you to someone far better than I. Maybe you’ve imagined me to be something I’m not—”
“No, I’ve seen what you refuse to see in yourself. In the same way you’ve seen what is good in me. You’re not worthless, Calvin. A man should not be judged by how much money he has or even might have. There are men of high social rank and wealth I wouldn’t marry because their character is deficient.”
“But there are plenty of Kansas City men of both quality and wealth.”
“I don’t love them.” She smothered a cough and then reached up to rub a thumb against the stubble along his jawline. “You are all the things I find attractive in a man. But even more than that, I love you because you think me valuable. You’ve been trying to keep me away for weeks, yet you just about ran into a burning building to find me. I know that no matter what happens in this life, you’ll be looking out for me. Even if I married another, I have no doubt you’d be praying I’d be happy.”
“I do want you happy. I really do. That’s why—”
She put a finger against his lips, and he closed his eyes, his voice shaky enough not to be trusted to continue.
“I know you think not marrying me is what’s best for me. And in all other things, I’d heed your warning because I truly believe you do want to look out for me. But in this, you are wrong. I need you.” Her voice turned hoarse, the crackle from emotion, smoke damage, or both. “What better way for you to look out for me than being close to me, with me, beside me? Forever.” She inhaled sharply and coughed hard.
He pulled her close and patted her back, not knowing if that would help, but what else could he do but stay beside her, with her, close to her? And he did indeed want to do that forever.
He kissed the top of her head, taking in a deep breath, trying to smell the perfume of her soap beneath the pervasive smoke.
If his mother hadn’t been the kind of woman to stay and tend her children through a time of misery, she wouldn’t have been the kind to rush into a burning building for a person she’d only known for a month, either.
Marianne was not his mother. He had to quit comparing them.
She laid a hand on his chest. “I’ll stop working if you can tell me you have no desire to marry me whatsoever.”
Breathing grew difficult as he closed his eyes and held her tighter. He could say nothing of the sort.
“I didn’t think so.” She backed away to cough again, then looked up into his eyes. “I know there could be hardship, but I think the joy we could give to each other outweighs the risk.” She took his hand and s
queezed it. “Don’t shove away a lifetime of blessing because you fear trials. You’ll have them no matter what you do.”
The simple act of having her in his arms was a blessing he didn’t deserve. Getting to love her for the rest of her life . . . he didn’t deserve that, either.
But then, David’s friendship, his job, his salvation—they were all blessings he didn’t deserve, and nothing would compel him to shove those away.
He’d wanted to save Marianne and himself from heartbreak, but was he keeping them from a joy he would never dare hope for?
She took a step closer, and he couldn’t help but wrap his arms around her again.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said about not being worth my love.” Though she coughed, she kept talking. “So I thought about what makes gold more valuable than anything else shiny, like tin or glass—why your treatment of me feels different than all the other suitors I’ve had. And I decided that what makes something a treasure is its rarity and how it’s treated.” She put a hand against his chest. “You, Calvin, are the only man I’ve ever felt this way for, and that means you’re rare. As for how I treat you, it’s like the Bible story about the pearl. The farmer sold all he had to buy the land where he’d found a precious gem. I think you’re a treasure worth sacrificing for. Maybe no one else does, maybe not even you, but I do.”
Since she’d stopped coughing, he tucked the treasure that was Marianne against his chest. When he’d stumbled upon this pearl of a woman, he’d been a fool, trying to encourage her to hand herself over to anyone else rather than give up all he had for her, fearing he might mishandle the precious thing she was, that their life together would tarnish her beauty.
But her beauty wasn’t a superficial layer on the outside he could rub off. Agitation and trials would likely only make her more resplendent—like she was right now.
Her coughing started again, and he forced himself to move forward with her so she could get medical attention. “Let’s get you to the doctor before you get worse.”
She nodded, unable to talk after using all her breath to convince him that her love was steadfast and true.
Tied and True Page 7