by Irene Brand
Her great eyes glistened with unshed tears, and Allen was tempted to stop the buggy, take her in his arms, and comfort her. Then he remembered his brother. Instead he laughed. “I doubt that. From what I’ve observed in the few days I’ve known you, I believe you’ll do everything in your power to make the business successful—just to prove to your father that you can. I don’t doubt that you’ll succeed, and although I usually tend to my own business, I am going to warn you that you shouldn’t trust the present manager, Ted Morgan, too far.”
Surprise was evident in her voice when she said, “I don’t understand. Father said he was recommended by a business associate. He’s been here a few months, I believe.”
Allen shrugged. “It’s just a hunch I have that he might not be too trustworthy. Also, being from New York, he doesn’t understand the culture of the people here in the mountains. He’s making them change their ways and habits. They don’t like it. For instance, they’re accustomed to a half-hour break in the morning and afternoon and an hour off for lunch. He’s changed the schedule to two fifteen-minute breaks and forty-five minutes for lunch.”
“I appreciate having you tell me that, and I’ll watch him carefully.”
“You can’t do that from New York.”
Dora appraised him with frank, speculative, dark eyes, but she didn’t comment.
five
Disgusted with himself because he kept coming up with ideas to keep Dora in North Carolina, Allen didn’t say anything else. Instead, he wondered about Timothy. Although he was pleased to see the boy, he hardly knew what to do with him. Should he try to convince his brother to stay in North Carolina? He thought the boy was just asking for trouble to be wandering around the country alone. Since he was sixteen, Allen had been on his own, and from experience he’d learned that it wasn’t an easy life.
Because Dora had mentioned buying a local home, he drove to a row of houses a mile or more from the mill and pointed out a house he thought Dora could rent—a story-and-a-half frame dwelling in excellent condition with an inviting front porch. Flower beds in the front yard enhanced the beauty of the site. Since it was located several blocks from the textile mill, the noise wouldn’t be too bothersome. Dora seemed pleased with the house and asked him to make arrangements for her to see the interior.
Allen agreed to do so, but he refused to accompany Dora when she asked him to go with her when she went to view the house.
“I’ll get in touch with the owner and make an appointment for you to check out the property, but I won’t go with you to look over the place. I don’t want to influence your decision. What you like, I might not, and since you’re the one who will be living there, you shouldn’t be influenced by my opinion. I’m sure George Vanderbilt will be happy to go with you.”
A half smile hovered on Dora’s lips, and he wondered if she thought he was jealous of George. To his knowl-edge, George wasn’t married, and since she was visit-ing there, no doubt the man would be romantically interested in Dora. He had a sinking feeling, knowing that a match between them was certainly possible. Both families had money and similar family backgrounds, so it wasn’t unlikely.
Well, if that ever happened, he’d pull up stakes and head westward. Since he relied on God to direct his life, he couldn’t help wondering why God had brought him into close contact with a woman like Dora. Ironically, he put a new twist on an old proverb. Instead of “East is east and west is west and never the twain shall meet,” the proverb that described his relationship with Dora should be: “Rich is rich and poor is poor and never the twain shall meet.”
After he had taken Dora through the small residential district of Fairfield, he said, “I’ll drive you to Biltmore before I take Timothy out to the farm.”
“How do you manage a farm and do carpentry work, too?” Dora asked.
“I’m not a farmer and never intend to be, but I needed a home, and I had an opportunity to buy this farm two years ago. It’s only forty acres and mostly in pastureland. I have a small herd of cattle. The house is small, but it does have two bedrooms, so I have room for Timothy.”
“You’re happy about Timothy being here, aren’t you?”
Quietly, he answered, “Yes, I didn’t know how much I’d missed not having any family until I saw him. I’ll not get too attached to him, though. If he’s affected with wanderlust, he may soon get tired of Fairfield and start traveling again.”
“If we give him a job at the cotton mill, he may decide to stay.”
“That’s possible. I’ll mention it to him. When are you returning to New York?”
“Father has written that he wants me to come home next week. I must meet with his lawyer about transferring all his North Carolina assets to me.” She paused and said with a sigh, “What would you do if you were given something you didn’t want?”
“I can’t tell you. Unless I’ve walked in your shoes, so to speak, I wouldn’t know.”
“You aren’t much help,” Dora said with a frown. “Just pretend that someone wanted to give you this mill. What would you do?”
Shrugging his shoulders, Allen said, “I wouldn’t want to own a textile mill, so if it was mine, I’d sell it. However, your father hasn’t given you that option. But if I were the owner, I’d turn it into the best textile mill in the country, and my first concern wouldn’t be making money. I’d want good working conditions for the employees. I’d improve the company houses where most of the employees live. Because the houses aren’t much good, the inhabitants don’t make a lot of effort to keep them clean. It’s my thought that if you put the employees’ welfare first, they’ll give you the best labor they can, and you’ll make more money than if you tried to keep everything for yourself.”
Dora looked at him, and Allen couldn’t interpret the softening expression in her clear, steadfast eyes. Her eyes were luminous, and a slight flush spread across her face. She took a quick breath and looked away. “It’s obvious you’re a philanthropist.”
“Well, I don’t know what that big word means, but what did I say wrong?” Allen asked, puzzled by the change in her.
“Nothing’s wrong,” she said. “You’re a good, amazing man, Allen Bolden. You’d inspire a mummy to become a better person.”
Embarrassed by the change in Dora, Allen said, “The Bible says that we shouldn’t call any person good. ‘He hath shewed thee, O man, what is good; and what doth the Lord require of thee, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God?’ That’s what determines if we’re a good person.”
Dora frowned. “Gracious! I pay you a compliment, and you preach a sermon. You’re a difficult man to understand.”
❧
While Allen refused to accompany Dora when she went to view the brick house she considered buying, George Vanderbilt was glad to go with her. Indeed, he volunteered to go. Maude also went with them. The house was small, but it reminded Dora of the home her family had owned along the Atlantic Coast when she was a child. In addition to the master bedroom with an adjacent bathroom, two smaller bedrooms and a bathroom had been built on the opposite side of the house. Maude was more aware of what they needed in a home than Dora was, so she relied on her companion’s comments in deciding to buy or rent it.
Separating the bedroom wings was a great room and a kitchen with a small dining nook. Compared to the houses she’d lived in all her life, the house was small. However, since Dora didn’t view this house as a permanent residence, she believed it would suit her needs. She probably wouldn’t visit Fairfield more than three or four times each year. Both the cook and the maid who’d worked for the previous owner were pleased to remain in her employ and stay in the residence while she was in New York. Dora felt that she’d made a wise decision to own her own home.
To celebrate buying the house, Dora planned a dinner. She invited George Vanderbilt and his sister, as well as Allen and Timothy. As it turned out, she and Allen h
ad the evening to themselves. Timothy absolutely refused to come, telling Allen that he’d feel like a “fish out of water.”
“I can’t even talk to Miss Porter when she’s on the farm without stammering and stuttering, so I’d be miserable,” Timothy argued. “Besides, I’ve never seen Mr. Vanderbilt or his sister. I just won’t go. Will you explain it to her?”
Allen had become greatly attached to his younger brother, and he knew exactly how he felt. He wasn’t looking forward to sitting down to eat with the Vanderbilts, either, but he wouldn’t hurt Dora’s feelings by refusing her invitation. He’d hurt her too many times when he wouldn’t involve himself in her way of life.
As it turned out, George and his sister were called to New York for a family board meeting, so only Allen and Dora sat down to dinner. The table was long, one that would probably have seated ten or more guests quite comfortably, and the maids had put place settings at opposite ends of the table. After they were seated, Allen laughed, “I can hardly see you in this dim candlelight. I’m going to sit closer to you.” He got up and moved to a chair beside her.
“Mattie is going to join us as soon as the maids have served us, so there will be three of us.”
Allen had given some thought to what he should wear to the dinner and ended up choosing his best church clothes. Perhaps knowing that he wouldn’t be wearing anything formal, Dora had donned one of the dresses she wore to the office. He was amazed sometimes at the effort she put forth to try to follow the lifestyle of the people who lived in Fairfield.
While they ate, Dora started explaining some of her ideas for the mill. Allen had hinted that the income of absentee landowners probably wasn’t as lucrative as if the owner lived in the area where the business was located. Still, her father owned enterprises in several different locations, and he had prospered. If the system worked for him, why wouldn’t it be profitable for her? She was confident she could persuade Allen to manage the mill for her. With him in charge, she wouldn’t have any worries about the mill productivity.
On that point, Dora soon learned that she was mistaken.
“You’ve been such a help to me in understanding the importance of the mill and the best way to operate it. I’m depending on you to take care of my interests when I’m not here.”
Allen shook his head and interrupted her with a lift of his right hand.
“I thought I’d already made it plain that I won’t do that. If this mill belongs to you, it’s your responsibility to manage it. Absentee landlords—or ladies, in your case—are rarely successful in operating a business. I won’t accept the responsibility of property that belongs to someone else.”
“But you know more about the mill and this part of the country than I do!”
“Of course! And how do you think I learned that? By living here for ten years. When I came to this area from South Carolina, I didn’t know a textile mill from a sawmill or a mountain from a foothill. I’d always lived in flat land, but I settled down and learned to live the necessary way to succeed in this country. All kinds of things can happen in a textile mill that would require the owner’s immediate attention. There could be a tragedy of some sort, and you might be in New York, or even in Europe. And no matter who you hire to work for you, no overseer will give a hundred percent to any project unless it’s to his interest to do so.”
“But you’ve told me what I should pay a manager,” Dora said, obviously puzzled that anyone would turn down such a handsome offer.
“You asked me what it would cost to hire a good manager, and I answered it. I didn’t tell you I considered it a good idea.”
They finished their meal in silence. When Allen laid aside his napkin, he didn’t know if he’d hurt Dora’s feelings or if she was angry. “I don’t suppose you’ll believe me, but I’m sorry I can’t do what you want me to. I’d like to please you, but I won’t do so at your expense or at my discomfort.”
Dora didn’t comment, but her facial expression relaxed until he decided she wasn’t angry at him. “Some people value independence, free will, and contentment more than money,” he continued, “and I’m one of them. No doubt you can find many competent men who will jump at the chance to manage the cotton mill, but it won’t be me.”
“You’re stubborn, aren’t you?”
“That’s not the term I would use,” Allen said, smiling at her. “I believe intelligent or independent would be a better word. The trouble with you, Dora, is that all your life you’ve been accustomed to having your own way, and I’m just like you in that respect. I’ve become very fond of you, and I’d like to do what you ask, but I won’t become responsible for the mill. I’m a carpenter and a farmer. If you want some construction done, I’ll do it, but I won’t work in a textile mill. Fairfield Textile Mill will soon belong to you. It’s your responsibility, not mine. If you don’t want it, sell it.”
Dora’s eyes snapped angrily. She drew a deep breath and swallowed awkwardly, obviously trying to control her tongue. At length she said quietly, “I’ve told you that Father has strings attached to it. If I sell the mill, he’ll disinherit me.”
Allen shrugged. “That might be the best gift he will ever give you.”
It wasn’t until Allen left that Dora realized he was suggesting she would be better off if she were dis-inherited. Was he thinking that if she were no longer heir to a fortune that they might have a future together? Although he hadn’t given any verbal indication that he loved her, Dora had occasionally seen expressions in Allen’s eyes that made her believe he was as attracted to her as she was to him. Sighing, she found it difficult to imagine that two people as different as she and Allen could ever have a future together. Why, of all the men she’d met in her life, had she developed an affinity for Allen Bolden?
Still angry with him, without even a good-bye, Dora left the next day for New York. She gave Allen her address, asking him to notify her if he thought she was needed at the mill. As always, Allen was a man of few words, and he didn’t say if he would or wouldn’t keep in touch with her.
six
Dora reclined on an upholstered sofa on the eighth floor of the apartment building watching the activities in Central Park through a large window. Although physically she was in New York, her mind was centered on the small town of Fairfield and the textile mill she owned there, which she left two months ago. Today she’d received the deed that had transferred the textile mill to her.
True to his nature, her father had attached a “string” to the gift. If she didn’t keep the property for ten years, ownership of the mill would revert to him. If she man-aged the property for ten years, it would belong to her. Regardless of whose name was on the deed, Dora knew her father would always intend to tell her how to manage the mill. If that was his plan, he was going to be in for a rude awakening. As soon as they affixed their signatures to the transfer of ownership, she was going to operate the mill as she wanted to. She had a feeling that he would soon regret the business transaction because she’d insisted on a clause in the deed giving her complete control of management for three years.
Dora loved her father—after all, he was the only family she had, except for some cousins—but she would not let him dominate her life any longer. When she was younger, they’d traveled together to far-flung nations of the world and had enjoyed wonderful companionship. It was only when she turned twenty-one, and by law was old enough to manage her own affairs, that he became dictatorial. Several times she’d been tempted to tell her father that she didn’t want his money—that she valued her independence more than riches. She had inherited a sizable amount of money from her mother’s family, over which he had no control, so even if her father disinherited her, she wouldn’t be destitute. He hadn’t been pleased when she refused to let him invest that money for her, and if she angered him too much, she wouldn’t put it past him to disinherit her and leave his estate to a nephew, Blake Porter, a man Dora didn’t like. She didn’t nee
d his wealth to survive, but she surely didn’t want Blake to have it.
Since she’d left North Carolina, she hadn’t heard any-thing from Allen, which both distressed and annoyed her. He was constantly in her thoughts during the day, and she dreamed about him almost every night. The dreams were hazy, and most of the time when she awakened, she couldn’t remember the content of them. Was she in love with Allen Bolden? Dora had experienced minor love affairs since she was in her teens. Most of her admirers had been boys of her own age, but at one time, she’d imagined herself in love with their thirty-year-old butler.
To fancy herself in love with Allen was almost as far-fetched as her puppy love for the butler. They had nothing in common. Even if he loved her, she couldn’t see any future for them. She couldn’t imagine herself living in the mountains of North Carolina the rest of her life, and she knew that Allen’s roots were planted too deeply in that area for him to live elsewhere. Certainly not in New York City!
Since she’d been home, her father had been hinting that it was time for her to get married, and he already had a prospective man in mind—a widower fifteen years older than she. Lester Holdredge was rich, of course, for her father wouldn’t have considered a poor man, being the owner of a chain of hotels throughout the state, as well as other real estate. She had nothing against Lester. He was an honorable man who’d make anyone a good husband—anyone except her.
She ignored her father’s overtures, wondering more than once if she would find happiness anywhere except with Allen. She’d considered telling her father that she didn’t want his money, but there was a larger barrier between Allen and her than finances.
Dora knew he would never consider her for his wife when she didn’t share his Christian faith. She remembered a comment he’d made about a couple who worked at the mill. The wife attended the same church Allen did, but the man spent most of his weekends, as well as his salary, in a local bar. While her mother-in-law supervised their children, the woman worked at the mill to feed her family. Allen had remarked that she should never have married the man in the first place because she knew his questionable habits. He’d quoted a verse to the effect that believers should not be unequally yoked with nonbelievers.
