Echoes of Mercy: A Novel

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Noble offered his wife a handkerchief and then continued softly. “The children must have supervision. I realize residing in an orphanage isn’t the same as being with a family, but I inquired about space at the children’s home in Wichita. They said they could accommodate all three children—the boys in the boys’ home, and Letta in the home for young women. But I wanted to confer with you, Caroline, and with Mr. Moore—or should I begin calling you Mr. Dinsmore?”

  A crooked smile tipped Ollie’s lips. “Just call me Oliver.”

  Oliver … Caroline swallowed a smile. He’d always be Ollie to her.

  “Oliver, then.” Noble gave a brief nod. “You’ve both been involved with the children, so I wanted you to share your thoughts before final decisions are made.”

  Caroline hung her head. Despite her prayers God hadn’t whispered in her ear. She sent a sad look across the table. “I honestly don’t know what’s best, Noble. As I told Ollie last night, if I had a different position, if I could be available to them, I’d take them in myself.”

  Kesia scuttled over with a pot of coffee and several mugs. She clanked the mugs onto the table while saucily arching one brow at Caroline. “An’ they’d starve with you, who refuses even to learn to boil water for an egg.”

  Caroline gathered her courage and placed her hand over Kesia’s wrist. “I was wrong to refuse your kind offers, Kesia.” The older woman’s jaw dropped. Caroline looked at Annamarie. “And yours, too. I hope you’ll forgive me for my stubbornness. God and I had to remove the final vestiges of a burden before I could make myself place a pan on a stove again. But”—she drew in a deep breath, savoring the sense of heaviness falling away—“I’m ready now.”

  Annamarie held her hands high, a smile breaking across her face. “Thank the Lord!”

  Caroline grinned, but then she sobered. “Since I can’t provide for Letta, Lank, and Lesley, perhaps Noble should make the arrangements to have them taken to Wichita.”

  “Now just hold up there.” Ollie leaned in, his brow furrowed in a scowl. “I haven’t had my say yet.”

  Kesia plunked a fist on her hip. “An’ just what’s your say, Ollie?”

  “I say … let Letta and Lank earn a wage that will allow them to stay right here in Sinclair, where they’ve always lived, and that will meet their need for food, clothing, and shelter.” He raised his chin and shot Caroline a challenging look. “Let me put them on the employee roster at the chocolate factory.”

  Fury fired through Caroline’s chest. She leaped up and glowered at Ollie. “Absolutely not! Those children will attend school!”

  Ollie rose, too, holding his hand out to her. “If you’d let me finish—”

  She pushed his hand aside, so angry her entire body trembled. How could he suggest such a thing after she’d shared her own childhood hardships with him? How could a man who so tenderly kissed her hand be hardhearted enough to subject Letta and Lank to a childhood of labor? She whirled on Noble. “Noble, call the children’s home. I’ll take them there myself.”

  “Carrie.” Ollie’s voice, full of gentle concern, tempered her rage. “Let me finish, please? Then if you still want to take the children to Wichita, I won’t stop you. I’ll let you do what you deem best.”

  She stared into his face for several seconds while a battle took place within her heart. Slowly, deliberately, she unballed her fists and laid her concerns at the feet of her Rescuer. With a slow nod she slipped back into her chair.

  Ollie sat, too, and folded his hands on the table. His pose reminded her so much of Noble she almost smiled. He cleared his throat. “As you already know, Carrie, my father has long chosen to employ younger workers with the intention of instilling skills that will benefit them throughout adulthood. I’ve always agreed with his reasoning. We’re both far too aware there are parents who will send their children to work—whether for selfish reasons, such as your parents did, Carrie, or simply for the extra income the family needs to survive. Either way, we can’t change the fact that children will be entering workplaces.”

  Caroline huffed. “You make it sound so hopeless! Harmon Bratcher’s voice has been silenced, but others have taken up the cause to end child labor. Eventually the laws will be changed.”

  Ollie nodded, completely calm in the face of her vexed complaint. “Eventually, yes, but in the meantime how do we best meet the educational needs of children who are in a factory or other workplace instead of a classroom?”

  An impish smile grew on Noble’s face. He tipped his head toward Ollie. “You have an answer for the question, don’t you?”

  Ollie pulled in a breath, his expression turning wary. “Well, sir, I believe I might. But I’d like your opinion on its feasibility.” He rested his elbows on the table and leaned in. Kesia, still holding the coffeepot in her hand, pressed in between Caroline and Noble. Ollie went on. “Last night after I dropped Carrie at her boarding hotel, I started thinking about how Lank and Lesley spent a few nights in the factory’s infirmary. The infirmary is rarely used, because when people are ill, they go home. So the room sits there, empty. I started thinking …”

  Kesia leaned in even closer, nearly squashing Caroline’s ribs against the table edge. “What? What?”

  Ollie angled his face toward Caroline, a hint of pleading in his eyes. “What if we were to use the infirmary as a classroom? Anyone under the age of sixteen who works at Dinsmore’s would be required to spend half of his or her shift in school.”

  Caroline gasped, hardly able to believe what she’d heard.

  “I’m certainly not opposed to your plan,” Noble said before Caroline could speak, “but don’t you think parents will choose to send their children elsewhere if they’re only drawing half wages?”

  Ollie shook his head. “You don’t understand. They’d be paid a full wage, but part of their job would be to”—he looked at Caroline again—“learn.”

  She stared at him in amazement. How she’d misjudged him. Shame flooded her, and she touched his arm. “Ollie, that’s a marvelous idea. Earning a wage, learning a skill, and gaining an education.” She frowned. “But can the factory absorb the cost? You have a significant number of young workers employed. If they change to half-time work, you’ll have to hire more workers to replace them, which means paying more wages. And do you intend to hire a full-time teacher?”

  Ollie shrugged, a grin giving him a boyish appearance she found irresistible. “Well, I won’t be paying Hightower’s ridiculously extravagant salary anymore. And the factory’s done very well.” He lost the teasing look and put his hand over hers. “It’s time I honor my father’s example of philanthropy and give back a portion of what we receive. Providing an education to youngsters who might not otherwise receive one seems a good start.”

  Annamarie patted her palms together, her smile bright. “Oliver, I think it’s a fine idea. And who knows? Perhaps other factory owners will learn of your on-site classroom and choose to emulate the idea. You might start a trend to benefit future generations.”

  Ollie chuckled and ducked his head in apparent embarrassment. “I don’t know about future generations, ma’am. I just asked God to find a way to help Letta, Lank, and Lesley. If anything else comes of it, it will be His doing—not mine.” His fingers closed on Caroline’s, sending warmth all the way through her.

  Kesia smacked the coffeepot onto the table. “Well, this is all fine an’ good for keepin’ those youngsters out of mischief durin’ the day, but what about at night? Who’s gonna make ’em do their homework, tuck ’em into bed, an’ listen to ’em recite their nighttime prayers?”

  Caroline had gotten so caught up in Ollie’s plans for a schoolroom within the factory, she’d forgotten that the children still needed a home. She gave Ollie a helpless look, which he returned. Noble and Annamarie also sat in silence, exchanging looks of worry.

  Kesia let loose with a joyous chortle. “I’ll tell you who’s gonna.” She jabbed her thumb against the ruffled front of her apron. “I am.”


  Caroline’s jaw dropped open, and Ollie squawked, “You?”

  Kesia scowled. “Well, of course me. An’ why not? I missed them red-haired scalawags like nobody’s business the whole time they was gone. I kept prayin’ and prayin’ for God to bring ’em back to me. An’ He did, so why shouldn’t I plan on keepin’ ’em? Besides”—a girlish giggle spilled out—“I can use their help takin’ care o’ that batch o’ kittens livin’ on my back stoop. Seven of ’em, for gracious sakes!”

  Caroline curled her hand over Kesia’s arm and spoke gently. “It’s a fine thing you want to do, Kesia, but you don’t have room for seven small kittens, let alone three active children. Why, there’s barely space for your little cot and a rocking chair in the living portion of your café.”

  Kesia shook her head, releasing a huff. “Well, silly girl, I’m not gonna keep ’em here. We’d have to stack up like cordwood at night. Their papa left ’em a little house, didn’t he? My café can be an eatin’ place from now on, and for the first time since my dear husband went to glory, I’ll have a real house an’ a family again. An’ maybe when Letta’s a little older, she’ll want to work alongside me here.” Tears filled her eyes. She curled her hand over Caroline’s shoulder. “Lemme have ’em, Miss Carrie. Don’t haul ’em off to some orphanage where they won’t get the love an’ attention they need. I’ll take good care of ’em. You can count on me.”

  Caroline rose and hugged the woman, her heart overflowing. Although she supposed she should seek Noble’s counsel first, she said, “You have my blessing, Kesia. I couldn’t have chosen a better mother for them.”

  Kesia’s sturdy arms tightened, and she sniffed loudly in Caroline’s ear. Then she pulled back and shook a finger under Caroline’s nose. “But that don’t mean I’m lettin’ you off in learnin’ how to cook. Even if you aren’t gonna be cookin’ for those rascals, you need to be seein’ to your own dinners. So first thing tomorrow mornin’, we’ll start your cookin’ lessons.”

  Sorrow descended like an anvil on Caroline’s chest. She swallowed tears and clutched Kesia’s warm hands. “But my job in Sinclair is done now, Kesia. I’ll be … leaving.”

  The sound of a clearing throat reached her ears. She turned slowly to find Ollie pinning her with a fervent look.

  “Carrie, about your leaving.” He tipped his head, the little tweed cap angling over one ear. “I’d like to talk to you about that.”

  Caroline

  Caroline walked the periphery of the infirmary-turned-classroom, notepad and pen in hand. Twenty-eight heads bent over arithmetic papers, industriously adding and subtracting. Over the past two months, word had spread about the full-time wage for part-time work and part-time schooling, and Ollie’s list of hopeful hires was longer than they could accommodate. As Caroline observed the fortunate ones who filled the desks, she sent up a prayer for those waiting to find the means to be satisfied, both financially and educationally. There were so many needs.

  Her inspection complete, Caroline waved to the teacher. Mr. Voegel, a retired schoolmaster whose love for learning trickled onto every student who crossed the infirmary’s threshold, nodded in reply, and she headed across the factory floor toward the loft for her end-of-the-week meeting with Ollie.

  As always, when preparing for a few moments of time with him, her heart began its dance of eagerness. Although she’d managed to maintain a professional front in keeping with her position of employee to boss, she’d never been able to squelch the joyous reaction she felt. She loved him. Foolish? Yes. Even pointless, given their current status as employer and employee. Still, with everything she had, she loved him. For his strength, his kindness, his well-founded sense of right and wrong, and—admittedly—his pleasing appearance. No man possessed greater attractiveness than Oliver Fulton Dinsmore attired in a three-piece suit. Although she did miss the rakish cap and striped suspenders from time to time.

  She tapped lightly on his door, and his familiar voice called, “Come in, Carrie!” Smiling, she stepped through, leaving the door open behind her.

  “How did you know it was me?”

  He looked up from an open ledger. His pale eyes crinkled with amusement. “For one, you’re always timely. We set our meeting for three-fifteen, and it is now precisely fifteen minutes past three.”

  She glanced at the lovely pendulum clock hanging between two landscape paintings and confirmed his statement.

  “For another, I would never mistake your delicate yet determined rap on my door. The sound is as distinct as the delightful curl in your hair.”

  Caroline slowly lowered herself onto one of the spindle-backed chairs facing his desk. Her pulse stuttered. During her three months as Dinsmore’s environmental safety manager—a position he’d developed to make the best use of her investigative skills—he’d never stepped beyond the bounds of professionalism. But commenting on her hair, which she likened to rusty corkscrews, could hardly be considered businesslike. She didn’t know how to respond, so she toyed with one loose curl and sat in silence beneath his smile.

  He set aside the ledger and folded his hands on the desk top. “I’m ready for your report. Any concerns to discuss?”

  His change in demeanor from teasing to practical put her at ease, and she shared the notes she’d gathered since their last meeting. After discussing the possibility of replacing the current rolling carts with mechanized conveyor belts, Ollie sat back in his chair and rested his linked hands on the taut front of his vest.

  “You’ve done well, Carrie. I’m very pleased with the suggestions for improvement.”

  Warmed by his praise, she ducked her head. “Thank you.”

  “Have you been as successful with Kesia?”

  She lifted her face, startled. “Pardon me?”

  His lips quirked into a grin. “The cooking lessons.”

  “Oh!” A giggle rose in her throat. She’d changed apartments, moving into one equipped with a small kitchen so she could practice in her own home rather than at the café, lest her concoctions frighten away Kesia’s customers. Some of her attempts had proved more successful than others. She admitted, “My biscuits are still as hard as rocks, but she pronounced my dumplings delectable.”

  “Are you baking biscuits or making dumplings for your supper tonight?”

  Where was this leading? She answered slowly, choosing her words with care. “I intend to purchase a trout on my way home and fry it in cornmeal batter.”

  His eyebrows rose. “I’m quite fond of trout.”

  “Would you like to join me?” Why had she asked him to dinner? Forward! Foolhardy! And dangerous. She still hadn’t mastered the art of frying. The trout might turn out as dry and stiff as old boot leather. Please let him decline!

  “I would like nothing better.” He rounded the desk, took her elbow, and escorted her to the door. “Six-thirty?”

  Something in his gaze stole her ability to form words. Mute, she bobbed her head in agreement.

  “Wonderful! I’ll be there. And I’ll bring a bottle of apple cider.” He winked. “Unfermented, of course.”

  She scurried off before she embarrassed herself with another uncontrolled giggle.

  Just as Caroline removed the frying pan from the stove, a tap! tap, tap, tap followed by a softer tap, tap came from the door. Nervously wiping her hands on the full apron covering her dress, she scurried around the tiny table filling the center of her kitchen area and twisted the doorknob. Her gaze collided with Ollie’s, who stood in the hallway with a jug in one hand and the most bedraggled-looking cluster of flowers she’d ever seen in the other. She clapped her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing.

  “That’s not very polite,” he said, his brow crunched into a mock scowl. “It’s December. This is the best I could do.”

  She took the dried, drooping mess. Two leaves broke loose and fell to the floor. She stifled another giggle. “Thank you. I think.” She tipped her head and examined the brown stems. “Where did you get these things?”

  “Fr
om a long-forgotten vase in the corner of the lobby downstairs.”

  “Hi, Carrie!”

  The second voice startled her so badly she squished the dried stems in her hand, severing three of them. A freckle-faced boy wearing Ollie’s old tweed cap and beaming a gap-toothed smile swung the tip of a wooden crutch over the threshold and came in.

  Caroline gasped, “Lesley!”

  Ollie shrugged sheepishly. “He’s my chaperone. Is it all right?”

  “Of course it is!” She leaned down and hugged the little boy. She saw Letta daily at the factory, where she took part in the new half-work, half-school program, but both Lank and Lesley attended the city school during the day, preventing her from having much time with them. Her worries about being alone with Ollie faded in light of Lesley’s cheerful presence. She straightened and gestured to Ollie. “Well, come on in and join Lesley and me.”

  He stepped through the doorway, removing his top hat as he came. She gazed at his neatly cropped hair, her fingers itching to smooth a few tousled strands into place. Realizing where her thoughts had drifted, she motioned toward the table. “Dinner’s ready. Have a seat, and I’ll serve the trout.”

  She’d set the table for two. Lesley leaned his crutch on the wall and plopped into one chair. Caroline stood for a moment, flustered, but then Ollie went to the corner, pulled out the crate she used to store canned goods, and perched on it. She offered him a grateful smile, then quickly collected another plate and some silverware from her small cupboard and clanked them on the table before bustling over for a platter and wooden spoon to dish up the trout. Her hands shook so uncontrollably she broke the fillet into pieces. A nervous laugh tittered out. “I’ll be just a minute.”

  Ollie rose and lifted the jug. “May I pour the cider?” His calm, steady presence juxtaposed with her flightiness made her feel addlepated. Tears threatened. Ollie said, “Carrie?”

  She turned slowly. She glanced at Lesley, who gazed up at her in curiosity, then turned to Ollie. “I’m sorry I’m being such a ninny. I haven’t cooked for anyone before. Not ever. And I’m terribly afraid it will taste awful. Or even make you sick.”