Memories of Another Day

by Harold Robbins

  She reached the corner and turned down toward Main Street and Mr. Fitch’s store.

  “This is a good town, Mr. Cahill.” Fitch’s voice was filled with warm sincerity. “Good people—simple, hardworking, God-fearing, honest. Plenty of labor available. Large families hereabouts. Nothin’ atall to have eight or ten kids aroun’ the house. Sooner or later they all have to git jobs. Kids are no trouble. They do their work an’ don’ ask fer much. It ain’t like back East or up North. No unions down here. People don’ want ’em, people don’ need ’em. They’re much too independent. Mountain people. They don’ trust outsiders.”

  “But they do trust you?” Mr. Cahill asked.

  Fitch laughed. “Why shouldn’t they? I’m one of ’em. Born and bred. My great-great-gran’ pappy founded this town. Ever’body knows Sam Fitch is their friend.

  “You kin take this message back to your associates in Phillydelphia. Sam Fitch assures them if they bring another mill down here, they’ll have all the labor they want at the price they want to pay an’ that there’ll be no city taxes in Fitchville fer at least twenty-five years.”

  “You make Fitchville sound like a mighty attractive place, Mr. Fitch.” Mr. Cahill was smiling now.

  “It is,” Fitch said. “It is. You people have no complaints with the first mill. Build another an’ it’ll be even better.”

  “Same arrangement as with the first?” Cahill asked.

  “Same arrangement. Sam Fitch ain’t greedy. All he wants is to do good fer his town.”

  Mr. Cahill nodded. “Very well, Mr. Fitch. I’ll discuss this with my colleagues and I’m sure they’ll be very impressed. You can be sure that you have my support.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Cahill, thank you.” Fitch rose behind his desk, his tremendous girth filling the small office. He squeezed around the desk and walked with Mr. Cahill through the store and out into the street. They shook hands and Mr. Cahill climbed up into his carriage.

  Fitch stood there as the carriage drove away, then turned and went back into the store. His face was thoughtful. A new mill meant another two hundred jobs at the very least. No matter how he looked at it, it meant a lot of money to him.

  “Mr. Fitch.” Her voice was soft.

  He turned in surprise. He hadn’t noticed her come into the store. He had been too occupied with Mr. Cahill. “Why, Molly Ann.”

  “It’s Satiddy night, Mr. Fitch,” she said.

  He recovered quickly. “So it is.” A broad smile came to his face. “Come into my office.”

  He sat down heavily behind the desk and looked at her appraisingly. Molly Ann had turned into a fine figure of a woman. He felt his mouth watering as he mentally compared her with his wife. “How’re you gittin’ on, my dear?” he asked.

  “Fine, thank you, Mr. Fitch,” she answered. She opened her pay envelope and counted out three dollars. “I would like fer you to put that in my paw’s account.”

  “Nothin’ would give me greater pleasure,” he said. He picked up the money and put it in a desk drawer. “How are your folks?”

  “They’re not much fer writin’, Mr. Fitch,” she said. “But I did see them last month an’ they was all well. Paw’s happy with his new mule. He figgers on at least four times the crops come plantin’ time.”

  “They should be right proud of you an’ your brother,” Fitch said. “Mr. Smathers tells me Dan’l is the best clerk he ever had.”

  Molly Ann nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Fitch.”

  He rose to his feet again. “You ought to come down here more often, Molly Ann. Not jes’ once a week on Saturday night fer business. You know I like to see you.”

  “You’re a busy man, Mr. Fitch,” she said. “I don’ like to be a bother to you.”

  He came around the desk and took her hand. “A pretty girl like you, Molly Ann, is never a bother.”

  Awkwardly she withdrew her hand. She didn’t know what to say.

  “Do you know that man who jes’ left here?” he asked suddenly.

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “That’s Mr. J. R. Cahill. He came here to talk to ol’ Sam Fitch about buildin’ another mill here. You know what that means?”

  She shook her head again.

  “It means that if’n you treat me right, I kin see to it you get a forelady’s job in the new mill.”

  She smiled suddenly. Now she understood him. She looked up into his face. “That’s right kin’ of you, Mr. Fitch.”

  He took her hand again. “You’re a right pert girl, Molly Ann. There’s no need for you to be wastin’ your time on no-counts like Jimmy Simpson when all you have to do is say the word an’ you got a real friend.”

  “I ’preciate that, Mr. Fitch. I really do.” She smiled. “An’ when the new mill opens, don’ be surprised if’n I come knockin’ at your door.”

  He looked at her for a long moment, then let go of her hand. “You do that,” he said heavily. “You jes’ do that.”

  She was at the door of his office. “Evenin’, Mr. Fitch.”

  He nodded, his heavy-lidded eyes veiling his thoughts. “Evenin’, Molly Ann.” He kept staring at the door long after she had gone. He picked up a cheroot and chewed on it. After a moment he lit it. Young girls were so stupid. He sucked in a deep lungful of the heavy gray smoke, then blew it out slowly. He watched the smoke drift idly toward the ceiling. Ah, well, it really didn’t matter. Sooner or later he would get her. He was a very patient man.

  ***

  She sat in the portable iron bathtub in the middle of the kitchen floor. Her landlady took a big kettle from the hot coal stove and came toward her. “More hot water?”

  Molly Ann nodded. “Yes, thank you, Miz Wagner.” She inched forward so that the water could spill behind her without scalding her. The clouds of steam came up around her face. After a moment she leaned back, her eyes closed. She could feel the aching weariness of the long day at the machine seeping out of her. “Miz Wagner,” she said.

  “Yes, Molly Ann?”

  “Is bathtubs like this very expensive?”

  “’Bout three, four dollars, I reckon.”

  Molly Ann sighed. “Someday if’n I ever git some extry money, I’d like to git one fer my maw. I bet she would love it.”

  Chapter 10

  Sunday was bright and sunny, and the gentle March wind held the first hints of spring. Buds were forming on the trees, their yellow-green shoots casting a golden glow on the naked branches. Molly Ann came down the porch steps to where Jimmy waited for her next to his mule and wagon.

  He turned toward her, his eyes taking in her white flowing dress, the yellow ribbons at her waist and around her hat. He whistled. “That really you, Molly Ann?”

  She blushed, smiling. “Do you like it?”

  He grinned. “You’re beautiful. It’s beautiful.”

  “I made it,” she said. “I got the material at the French store. It’s a genuine Paris, France, patent.”

  He took her hand. “I don’t know,” he said doubtfully.

  “What?”

  “This ol’ wagon, this ol’ mule. Almos’ seems a shame to dirty up a nice new dress lak that.”

  “You jes’ put a blanket up on that ol’ seat,” she said. “An’ don’ gimme none o’ yer sass.”

  He laughed and helped her up. He stood there looking up at her. “You sure do look pretty, Molly Ann.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “Now go back to the kitchen. I fixed us a picnic basket.”

  “You did? How’d you know it would be a nice day?”

  She laughed. “I looked out the window, silly. Hurry up, now. The day’s gittin’ shorter.”

  A few minutes later, he was on the seat beside her and the mule was pulling them down the road. “You got yer druthers,” he said. “There’s a picnic at the Fairgrounds, a Holiness Church revival an’ the party at Woodfield Brook.”

  “The party at Woodfield Brook?” she asked. “I didn’ hear ’bout that one. What’s goin’ on?”

  “Nothin
’,” he said. “Only us.”

  She slipped her arm through his and smiled. “That’s my druthers.”

  ***

  He finished off the last piece of apple pie and leaned back on one elbow and looked at her. “That was the best victuals I ever et,” he said.

  She smiled. “Go on, now. ’Twas nothin’. Jes’ some ol’ fried chicken and corn bread and apple pie.”

  “You fergot the pink lemonade,” he said. “You shouldn’t ought to spend all that money. You work too hard fer it.”

  She looked at him. “How else you goin’ to know I kin cook?”

  He laughed. “Maybe you’re right.”

  “Did you git up to see my paw?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he answered. “They was all fine, an’ they send you their best.”

  “Li’l Mase mus’ be gittin’ pretty big now,” she said.

  “He is. You should see him runnin’ aroun’ on his fat li’l legs.”

  Her voice was wistful. “I wisht I could see ’em. But it’s so far.”

  “Maybe your forelady kin give you next Satiddy off. We kin go up there an’ come back on Sunday,” he said.

  She brightened. “That would be nice.” Then the brightness was gone. “But she wouldn’ do it. They runnin’ behin’ and we’re all workin’ extra hours.”

  They were silent for a moment. Then she spoke again. “Maybe when the new mill opens things’ll be easier.”

  “New mill?” he asked. “What new mill?”

  “The one Mr. Fitch was talkin’ ’bout. I was in his store yestiddy to put some into my paw’s account an’ he mentioned that mebbe he could get me a forelady’s job when the new mill opened.”

  “He did?” Jimmy’s voice had a strange hard edge that had not been there before. “Was there anything special you had to do to get the job?”

  She looked at him. She knew full well what he meant, but she thought it better not to mention that part of the conversation. “No. He jes’ said that when the time came I should see him.”

  Jimmy was silent. He stared down at the blanket thoughtfully. A new mill. He wondered where it would be built. Probably Old Man Fitch had already bought up the property from some poor broken-down farmer. He was silent for so long that she spoke again.

  “Is there anything wrong, Jimmy?”

  He shook his head. “No.” Then his voice turned bitter. “When are the people o’ this town goin’ to git wise to that man? Cain’t they see he’s bleedin’ their life away and suckin’ their blood?”

  “Jimmy!” She was horrified. “How kin you say turrible things like that?”

  “Because it’s true!” he answered hotly. “Look, you give him money ever’ week for your pappy’s account, don’t you?”

  She nodded.

  “You ever ask him what your balance is?”

  “No. That’s not my affair. That’s my paw’s.”

  “If’n you put that money in a bank, they’d pay you interest,” he said. “He don’ give you nothin’, an’ I bet he steals the money. I bet if’n yer paw should ask him the balance, there wouldn’ be none.”

  She didn’t speak.

  “How many people do you think he’s got doin’ what you’re doin’? Maybe more’n a hundred. That’s a lot of money ol’ Sam Fitch’s got without doin’ anythin’ fer it.” He laughed harshly. “An’ all you hillbillies are grateful to ’im fer gittin’ you jobs so that you kin starve to death bein’ in debt to him. But jes’ you step out of line an’ you’ll fin’ out how much of a friend Sam Fitch is. No money. No credit. No nothin’. Along comes the sheriff with a writ, an’ then no more house an’ lan’ or place to live. Jes’ like happened to the Craigs on the bend of the river. Forty acres one day. The next, nothin’.” He stopped suddenly as he realized what he was saying. “Damn!” he exploded. “That’s it!”

  “Don’t blaspheme,” she said sharply.

  He stared at her. “That’s jes’ what happened. Don’t you see? He’s been plannin’ this fer more than a year. Fer no reason at all, the Craig kids lost their jobs in the mill an’ the glass factory. As if in one week they’d all turned bad. A few months later, ol’ Fitch came in an’ bought their property fer a li’l more’n they owed him an’ they moved away.”

  “I don’t understand,” she said.

  “The new mill,” he said. “That’s where it’s goin’ to be. On the old Craig place. It’s got ever’thing. Water. Power. An’ room. Lots o’ room.”

  “What’re you gittin’ all het up about?” she asked. “It’s got nothin’ to do with us.”

  He looked at her. “Maybe it hasn’t. Not now. But in time it will. He jes’ gits more ’n’ more power an’ pretty soon he’ll own everything in the valley, includin’ the people.”

  She stared at him for a moment, then reached for the pitcher. “Here. Have some more lemonade. You’re gittin’ all riled up fer nothin’.”

  He took the glass from her hand. His face relaxed, the grim angry lines softening into a smile. He held up the glass of lemonade and looked through it at the sun. “You’re a lovely, innocent child, Molly Ann,” he said. “And someday you’re goin’ to make some man a fine wife.”

  The glass shot from his hand; the pink lemonade sprayed over his shirt. She scrambled angrily to her feet. “I’m not a child! I’m past sixteen an’ I’m a woman!” she snapped. “An’ you better be man enough to ask me or else you kin take me home!”

  He stared up at her in surprise. Hurt and anger made her even more beautiful. He felt his heart well up inside him almost as if it would burst his sides. His own voice sounded strange in his ears. “I’m askin’, Molly Ann.”

  It was her turn to be surprised. She was speechless.

  “I’m askin’, Molly Ann,” he repeated. “What is your answer?”

  “Oh, Jimmy!” she said, flinging herself down on him, the tears coming to her eyes. “Yes, yes, yes!”

  ***

  They were married a little over a month later on the first of May 1915, at the First Baptist Church of Fitchville. All her family was there, down from the hills, dressed in their Sunday best. All except Daniel. He could not get time off from his job.

  It was the same day they began clearing the land on the old Craig farm to build the new mill.

  ***

  Molly Ann came into the bedroom, her face flushed with excitement. “Wake up!” she said, shaking his shoulder. “Wake up!”

  Jimmy threw one arm over his head. “Let me be, woman,” he mumbled. “It’s Sunday morning.”

  “Mr. Fitch is here to see you,” she said.

  “Ol’ Man Fitch?” He was awake now. “To see me?”

  She nodded.

  “I wonder what he wants.”

  “I don’ know,” she said. “Theah was a knock on the door. I opened it an’ theah he was. It’s very important, he said.”

  “Very important?” He moved suddenly, pulling her down on him. “This is Sunday morning an’ I didn’ git my morninger yet.”

  Her arms pushed against his chest. “You were too busy sleepin’.” His mouth covered her lips. “Please, Jimmy, what will he think?” she murmured.

  “I don’ give a damn,” he said.

  She pushed herself away. “Don’t blaspheme!” she said sharply. “Now you git yerself dressed an’ come downstairs.” She walked to the door. “I’ve made some fresh coffee.”

  Mr. Fitch was seated at the table in the kitchen when he came into the room. In front of him were a plate of ham and eggs, a steaming mug of coffee and hot rolls and butter. He was shoveling food into his mouth as if years had passed since he had eaten his last meal.

  “Mornin’, Mr. Fitch,” he said.

  Mr. Fitch swallowed a mouthful of food before he replied. “Mornin’, Jimmy. I declare, yer li’l wife heah is as fine a cook as her mother. Yer a very lucky man.”

  Jimmy nodded. He walked to the table and sat down. Molly Ann placed a mug of coffee in front of him and went back to the stove. Jimmy picked up the mug.
The coffee was steaming and fragrant. “I know that,” he said.

  Mr. Fitch wiped the last bit of yolk from his plate with his roll. He swallowed it whole, washing it down with the coffee. He leaned back, patting his stomach gently. “That’s a mighty fine breakfast, Miz Simpson.”

  Molly Ann blushed much like her mother. She didn’t miss the fact that he’d promoted her from Molly Ann to Mrs. Simpson. “Thank you, Mr. Fitch.” She looked at Jimmy. “Ready for your breakfast now?”

  “Not yet,” Jimmy said. “I’ll just have some coffee fer now.”

  “Then I’ll leave you gentlemen to your business,” she said politely, and went into the next room. But also like her mother, she stayed near the doorway so that she could hear what was being said.

  “What brings you out on a Sunday mornin’?” Jimmy asked, not waiting for Fitch to lead off.

  Fitch smiled. “I missed seein’ you in church the las’ few Sundays.”

  Jimmy didn’t answer. He realized Fitch knew that he was not much for Sunday churchgoing.

  “But I figgered,” Fitch continued smoothly, “young man, newly married, beautiful young wife. What would he be doin’ in church of a Sunday mornin’ anyhow?”

  Jimmy picked up his coffee mug and studied it. “Molly Ann told me you said it was important.”

  “It is,” Mr. Fitch said seriously. “Very important.” He paused for effect. “I’ve been keepin’ an eye on you fer a long time, young man. An’ I’ve liked what I’ve seen. You remin’ me very much of myself when I was your age. Full of git-up-an’-go.”

  Jimmy nodded silently.

  “An’ I been thinkin’,” Mr. Fitch said. “I’m not gittin’ any younger, an’ a young man like you can go a long way in business with me. I got nobody I can depend on an’ too much to do.”

  “Are you offerin’ me a job, Mr. Fitch?” Jimmy was incredulous.

  “In a sort of way,” Mr. Fitch replied. “But more’n that. I want you to take over some things fer me so that I can pay attention to others.”

  “What sort of things, Mr. Fitch?”

  “You call me Sam,” Fitch said.

  “All right, Sam. What things?”