Looking To The Future (#11 in the Bregdan Chronicles Historical Fiction Romance Series)

by Ginny Dye

  “The same thing that happened to most Southern men—at least those of us who lived through the war,” he said bitterly. “The niggers have destroyed our country.”

  Thomas heaved a sigh. Nothing he could say would change the man standing in front of him, at least not in the few minutes he had to escape the factory. And he most definitely was not willing to give his life for it. He prayed someone would notice the flames and alert the fire department station nearby.

  First, though, he had to get out of the building alive.

  He thought about leaving Pierre there to die, but realized he didn’t want to stoop to the same level as the man willing to kill him. He waved his gun toward the open office door, coughing slightly as the smoke began to rise. “You first,” he snapped.

  “I’m not leaving,” Pierre growled.

  Thomas shrugged. “That’s your choice.” He knew he was running out of time to escape. As he stepped forward to lift his briefcase, knowing there were papers in it that he would need, Pierre leapt toward him. Caught off balance, he didn’t have time to pull the trigger before the man’s bulk crashed into him. He grunted and fell against the desk, the hard wood knocking the air out of him.

  *****

  Anthony and Carl ran as fast as they could, dashing down empty roads and through dark alleys. Just enough light spilled from windows to make it possible to avoid potholes and trash cans. Dogs barked, but none ran out at them.

  Anthony concentrated on breathing, counting the blocks as they ran. He kept his thoughts focused on Thomas. He had grown to love Thomas and Abby, but more than anything, he couldn’t imagine Carrie having to face another loss. Losing her father to an act of violence was not something he was going to let happen. Not if he could stop it. Lungs burning, he willed himself to run faster.

  He prayed Carl was right that there were men guarding the factory. Surely, they would be able to stop whatever was going to happen tonight, but he couldn’t count on it.

  “We’re almost there!” Carl gasped as they rounded another corner into a long alley wedged between tall, brick buildings.

  Anthony recognized they were now in the commercial district down by the river. He gritted his teeth, and kept running. I’m coming, Thomas, his mind screamed. I’m coming!

  *****

  Thomas gathered enough air and strength to push Pierre off him.

  Pierre recovered and cocked his arm back.

  Thomas saw it coming, but was still too stunned to dodge the fist Pierre aimed at him. He grunted as it smashed into his face. Blood spurted from his nose as smoke filled the office. Fighting to maintain consciousness, he realized he still had the gun in his hand. He shifted slowly, trying to steady the shaky pistol.

  Pierre chuckled, a wild look in his eyes as he grabbed for the gun.

  Thomas fired.

  He fell back as Pierre ripped the gun from his hand and continued to laugh maniacally. The man was clearly mad, and truly was willing to die to destroy the factory. Abby’s face filled his mind. Then Carrie’s. Thomas grunted as he fought to push himself up again. The smoke and pain were making it almost impossible to move.

  Regret filled him as he realized he would die that night.

  *****

  Anthony rounded the corner just as a contingent of men rushed toward the factory, the glow of flames flickering in the windows. “No!” he yelled as he ran forward, determined to reach the building first.

  “Daddy!” Carl yelled. “Mr. Cromwell is in the building!”

  Moments before Anthony reached the doors, they were pushed open from the inside. Close to a dozen men, clothed in black, ran out onto the street.

  “Get them!” Anthony yelled over his shoulder as he dashed into the building. “I’m going after Thomas!” He knew someone had entered the building behind him, but he didn’t have time to find out who it was. He ran through the smoke to the stairs leading up to the office, glad he knew the building. He barely registered the flames devouring wooden tables and material laid out to be made into clothing the next day.

  “Thomas!” he hollered.

  A loud gunshot boomed through the factory.

  Anthony pounded up the stairs. Just as he reached the top, another gunshot exploded.

  *****

  Thomas cried out as a searing pain burned through his leg. Pierre stumbled toward him and then launched himself through the air.

  Pierre crashed down on top of him, his hands reaching for his neck. Thomas fought to push him off, but he could feel himself losing consciousness. “I’m sorry, Abby,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, Carrie…”

  Just before he slipped into the blackness, a shadowy figure appeared at the office door. He waved his hand weakly, and then closed his eyes.

  *****

  Anthony stood at the door for a moment. He saw a flicker of movement in the smoky air, but had no idea who had made it. All he was certain of was that Thomas was at the bottom of the pile. It took only a moment to realize the man on top was Pierre. The factory manager was still alive, and had his hands around Thomas’ neck.

  Anthony grabbed Pierre, punched him savagely, and then tossed him aside. Then he spun back, still uncertain whether the man who had followed him in was friend or foe. “Help me get Thomas!” he shouted as he ran back and knelt beside his friend.

  “I’ll take his knees,” the stranger gasped.

  Anthony peered through the smoke at a tall, skinny black man, who he figured must be part of the black militia that had been standing guard. Anthony’s instincts told him the man could be trusted. He reached down, wrapped his arms under Thomas’ shoulders, and picked him up.

  The black man grabbed Thomas under his knees and lifted him easily. “We got to get out of here,” the man snapped.

  Suddenly, two more men appeared. One of them laid a wet towel over Thomas’ head to protect him from the smoke. The other one handed wet towels to Anthony and the tall man.

  Anthony laid the towel across his mouth and took a few deep breaths before pushing it aside. “Let’s move!” Praying Thomas was still alive, he surged toward the door, wondering how they would get through the flames that must have consumed the stairs by then.

  One of the additional men supported Thomas’ torso as the three of them rushed down the landing with his limp body.

  Anthony gasped with relief when he saw more men pour into the building, all of them armed with large buckets of water. They heaved the water in unison at the stairs, putting out the flames just enough for them to push through the acrid smoke.

  “Run!” they hollered.

  Anthony ducked his head and ran, sucking in fresh air when they burst through the door.

  He could hear the clanging of a firetruck bell in the distance.

  “Keep going!” one of the men yelled. “Get Mr. Cromwell out of here. We don’t know what is going to happen!”

  Anthony drew deep breaths as they continued away from the building. They stepped back into shadows as the first firetruck rounded the corner. The horse plunged to a stop as ten men leapt off the truck, pulling a hose with them. More clanging bells revealed more help was on the way. He was sure every volunteer fire company in Richmond would soon be there. There was not a single person who didn’t remember the fires that had consumed almost the entire business district at the end of the war.

  Anthony laid Thomas down gently and removed the wet towel, terrified they had been too late.

  “He’s still breathing!” the thin man said triumphantly.

  Anthony stared at Thomas’ battered face. His stomach clenched in knots, however, when he looked down and saw blood seeping from his pant leg. “He’s been shot,” he said grimly. As he ripped the material away from Thomas’ leg, he saw the large, bloody wound gushing blood.

  The man stood up and pulled off his shirt, quickly ripping it into strips. “Move back,” he ordered.

  Anthony stepped back, praying Thomas would make it.

  The stranger expertly wound the strips of cloth around the wound. “This
should stop the bleeding,” he announced. “Willard, go get Spencer. Tell him we got to get Mr. Cromwell out of here, and to the hospital.”

  “Who are you?” Anthony asked.

  “I’m Eddie.”

  Carl raced up just then. “This is my daddy. This is Anthony Wallington, Daddy.”

  Eddie eyed Anthony. “You the one sweet on Miss Carrie?”

  Anthony managed a tight smile. “Guilty as charged.” He understood, now, why Eddie had worked so hard to save Carrie’s father. The Cromwell family had done a lot for him. Anthony looked back at Thomas and asked the question he was afraid to verbalize. “Do you think he’ll make it?”

  “I think so,” Eddie said, “but I’ll feel a whole heap better when we get him to a hospital.”

  Spencer materialized from the darkness. “I’ll get him there,” he said firmly, and then looked at Eddie. “We found Morton knocked out in the bushes. They only took the carriage and the horse a few blocks, though. I found it.”

  “Is Morton gonna be all right?”

  “He’ll have a nasty headache in the mornin’, but he’ll make it.” Spencer looked at Anthony. “Can you help us get Mr. Thomas into the carriage?”

  “Certainly,” Anthony replied. “And then I’m going to the hospital with you, Spencer.”

  “Wouldn’t expect nothing else,” Spencer replied. When Thomas was laid out on the carriage seat, his head resting in Anthony’s lap, Spencer turned to Eddie. “Will you go by the house and let May know what happened? I reckon she is fit to be tied. You tell her Mr. Cromwell gonna be just fine.”

  Eddie hesitated. “You reckon that be true?”

  Spencer nodded. “He’s a strong man. He’s gonna make it.” He picked up the reins and clucked to the horse. “Git on,” he called.

  Anthony looked back at the factory, flames shooting from the windows. He doubted the firefighters could save the building, but if they could stop it from spreading to the other structures, they would be heroes. He was thankful for a night with no wind. He prayed it would stay that way. Then he turned his prayers to Thomas.

  “Please let him live,” he muttered. “Please let him live…”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Eddie was waiting outside Thomas’ house when Spencer rolled up in the carriage. He stepped from the shadows of the barn once Spencer had stabled the horse and given it a ration of grain and hay. “Mr. Thomas gonna be okay?”

  Spencer didn’t look surprised to see him. “The doctor figures he will be. He swallowed a lot of smoke, but your stopping the bleeding in his leg was probably what saved his life. That bullet busted up an artery pretty good,” he said. “If y’all hadn’t got him outta there, he wouldn’t have made it.”

  Eddie sighed with relief. “Had he come to when you left?”

  “No, but the doctor didn’t seem much worried about that. Anthony is with him.”

  Eddie raised a brow. “They let him stay?”

  Spencer chuckled. “Don’t know they had much choice. He made it clear he weren’t leaving Mr. Thomas there by hisself.”

  “Anthony a good man?” Eddie asked. “I hear he be sweet on Miss Carrie.”

  “I reckon he is. And, yes,” he added, “he be a real good man.” He changed the subject. “Did you catch them boys that done did this?”

  “We did,” Eddie replied. “Willard went for the police while the militia rounded them all up. We figured they would listen to a white man before they did us.”

  Spencer frowned. “Probably just this one time. Now that they know that white man be friends with us, they probably won’t listen again.”

  Eddie shrugged. “Maybe, but at least we got the men who set that fire.”

  “Factory workers?”

  “Every one of them,” Eddie said angrily. “They kept spoutin’ off that they didn’t have no choice.” He shook his head with disgust. “They destroyed their jobs right along with everybody else’s.”

  “What about Pierre?” Spencer asked.

  Eddie shrugged. “He didn’t make it,” he said shortly. “By the time they could get firefighters back up them stairs, I guess the smoke done did him in.”

  Spencer thought about what Anthony had told him on the trip to the hospital. “Had he been shot?”

  “Nope,” Eddie replied. “I heard those two gunshots, but I don’t reckon we’ll know what happened until Mr. Thomas tells us.”

  Spencer nodded wearily. “Go home, Eddie. You did real good tonight. Without you makin’ sure there be a guard there, it would have been a whole lot worse.”

  Eddie shook his head with disgust. “I didn’t do real good,” he said bitterly. “Those men should have never got in there. I still don’t know how they snuck past the guards. And I don’t know how they missed the fact that Mr. Thomas didn’t leave the factory. Clark and I wouldn’t have been there if Leo hadn’t come to find us.” He tightened his lips. “It coulda been a whole lot worse, but it should never have happened in the first place.”

  “Things happen,” Spencer replied, reaching out to lay a wrinkled hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Without you there, Mr. Cromwell would be dead.” He frowned. “Course,” he added gravely, “it is a worry how they got past our guard.”

  Eddie looked at him sharply. “Go on. What are you thinking?” He was certain it was the same thing he was thinking, but he couldn’t bring himself to give words to it.

  “I’m thinking they had to know where our guard was hiding,” Spencer said. “There be only one way for them to know that.” He shook his head. “I hate to be thinking it, but…”

  Eddie nodded, his stomach clenching. “I’ll find out the truth,” he said. “We gots to know who sold us out. And, why they did it.”

  *****

  Anthony dozed fitfully in the hard chair next to Thomas’ bed. The hospital staff had insisted he couldn’t stay. He had made it clear he wasn’t leaving, so they had finally left him alone in the dark room. Every time he woke, he listened until he could hear Thomas’ breathing. Only then could he fall back asleep. Eddie had come by early that morning, only getting in because he had a friend working the front desk. They had talked briefly in the hallway, and then Anthony had gone back to sleep.

  “That can’t be real comfortable.”

  Anthony jolted awake when a voice broke into his dream of fire and smoke. He opened his eyes and blinked rapidly several times to clear his vision. “Thomas?” He was relieved beyond words to see Thomas’ eyes were open. “Thank God.”

  “Indeed,” Thomas agreed ruefully. He coughed and looked around him. “I take it I’m in the hospital?”

  Anthony nodded, reaching for the pitcher of water next to Thomas’ bed. He poured a glass and handed it to him. “I imagine you’re thirsty after swallowing so much smoke.”

  Thomas reached for the glass eagerly. “I could use some water,” he agreed. He drank thirstily, coughed several times, and then drank some more. Finally, he put the glass down. “What happened?”

  “We were hoping you could tell us,” Anthony answered. “I can only tell you that you scared me half to death. The building was on fire, and very smoky when I got there. I heard two gunshots when I ran inside. When I got upstairs, I saw you lying under Pierre. He had his hands around your neck.” The memory almost took his breath. “We pulled him off you and got you out of there.”

  “Pierre?” Thomas asked.

  Anthony met his eyes. “Pierre didn’t make it.”

  “I see,” Thomas murmured. “How did he die?”

  “From smoke,” Anthony answered. “Eddie was here earlier. He told me they pulled out his body late last night.”

  “Was he shot?” Thomas demanded.

  “No,” Anthony answered. “You weren’t so lucky, however.”

  Thomas blinked, and then lifted his cover to stare beneath it. “That’s why my leg hurts like the dickens.”

  “Bullets seem to have that effect,” Anthony said wryly. He gazed at his friend. “What happened?”

  Thom
as explained, pausing when he came to the end of his recital. “Did the factory make it?” he finally asked in a hoarse voice.

  Anthony shook his head slowly. “The brick walls are still standing, Thomas, but everything else is destroyed. All the machinery. All the material. The loading dock burned. All your equipment is gone.”

  Thomas stared blankly at him, trying to absorb the information. “What happened to the men who set the fire?”

  “The black militia caught them,” Anthony replied. “They’re all in jail. No one took kindly to them setting a fire in the business district.”

  Thomas stiffened. “How many other buildings burned?” he asked in a strained voice.

  “None,” Anthony assured him. “Eddie told me that by the time it was all over, close to two hundred men worked to put the fire out. All the fire engines were there, and they had several bucket brigade lines leading down to the river. Everybody worked hard.”

  Thomas sagged back against his pillow. “I’m glad,” he said with relief. Sorrow filled his face. “So many jobs have been lost,” he said thickly. “How could those men have destroyed their own jobs? What will their families do now?”

  “And all because you dared to give jobs to black men,” Anthony said quietly. “It just doesn’t seem possible that people would be so short-sighted.”

  “Oh, I think maybe those men got caught up in it,” Thomas said slowly. “I think in the end, they didn’t want to do it.”

  “Then why did they?” Anthony snapped. “Surely you don’t feel sorry for them!”

  “I feel sorry for the entire South,” Thomas replied wearily, reaching for the glass of water again. When he was done drinking, he turned back to Anthony. “I’m fairly certain Pierre threatened their families if they refused to set the fire.”

  “They were stupid,” Anthony said angrily.

  “I agree,” Thomas said, “but men have done worse things for far less reason than protecting their family. I suspect they felt trapped.”