Promise of Tomorrow

by Moore, S. Dionne

  Jack rubbed his hands down his trousers. So many years had passed since his father’s failure and death. Did he truly have to forgive a dead man? Wasn’t moving on enough? Putting the past behind him and striking out on his own hadn’t been easy, but he’d done it. And now he was engaged to Alaina, a beautiful, gentle woman. What would she tell him to do?

  What would his mother say? Had she forgiven his father before her death? He tried to remember any conversations he’d had with her in regard to his father and couldn’t think of one time when she’d spoken a cross word.

  His fingers dug into his palm. Hard. He wanted to believe that she had talked, maybe to others, and blamed Don Kelly for her trouble. It would make Jack’s anger toward him easier to deal with.

  As the notes of the final hymn lingered in the air, Jack squelched the desire to jump over the pews and burst outside. Instead, he did his duty and waited with everyone else for the pastor to greet his parishioners, one by one.

  Alaina kept sending him confused looks, as if trying to diagnose his sudden illness, but the symptoms remained a mystery too hard for her to unravel.

  The pastor shook Jack’s hand but held on to prevent him from moving along. “You’re working hard, Jack. Your face shows your weariness. Unless there is something else troubling you?”

  Apparently his fidgeting hadn’t gone unnoticed. He could feel Alaina’s stare. Shame washed over him. “Your message was quite stirring.”

  A knowing twinkle flashed in the pastor’s eyes. No doubt the man understood evasion when he heard it, but he allowed Jack to pass and turned his attention to Alaina.

  Jack waited for her, chagrined when she picked up where the pastor had left off.

  She placed her hand on his arm and leaned toward him ever so slightly. Jack could see the strain of her concern. For him. “This is not about a sleepless night, is it, Jack? It’s about last night.”

  The arrow of her words hit its target. “Let’s put it aside and enjoy our afternoon.”

  Her eyes flashed. “I won’t be put off forever.”

  “I’m not putting you off.” He shifted his weight and tried to keep his voice even. “I just don’t have anything to tell you.”

  “You’re troubled. You fidgeted more than a wayward boy of five during Pastor’s sermon. I think I have a right to know what’s troubling you.”

  “We can talk tomorrow night when I come to visit.”

  Her dark eyes snapped. “I’m supposed to share in your troubles.”

  Irritation pricked. “I’m fine.”

  Alaina’s nostrils flared. “Then I’ll leave you alone.” She jerked around, head held high, and disappeared into the crowd.

  Jack rubbed his hand over his brow. Alaina never pushed back, but she’d pushed back this time, and the experience left him shaken.

  “Never seen her quite so fired up.”

  Jack looked over his shoulder to see Frank. “Me neither.”

  “You going after her?”

  “I don’t think she wants me to.”

  Frank’s gaze lifted to something over Jack’s shoulder. “Well, if you are, you’d better hurry. She and her mother got themselves a ride.”

  He didn’t run after her. There was no use. How had things gone wrong so quickly? The prospect of returning to his dreary place or poring over his plans for a new angle from which to work all seemed hollow now.

  Ten

  May 20, 1889

  “Our hero,” Clarence Fulton boomed when Jack opened the door of his boss’s office.

  Jack squinted in the midmorning light coming through the window, clutching his report in one hand. “I came by to drop off my findings on the South Fork Dam.”

  Mr. Fulton resumed his seat and fixed Jack with a stare that made him cautious. “The clouds are breaking up now.” Fulton scooted his chair forward. “Without the rain pouring down, the dam doesn’t seem like such a great threat. I’ll read over your report. However, I’m more interested right now in that process you’re working on.”

  An edge of irritation made Jack clench his teeth. All that work and now the report meant almost nothing. He made himself concentrate on Fulton’s enthusiasm on the other project. “I’m on to something with that. I know it. I’ll be working on it today.”

  “Good. Good. You show great promise, young man. Great promise.”

  The meeting came to a swift end, and for once, Jack felt relieved to step from his boss’s office. As he got closer to the huge room of Open Hearth Furnaces, the temperature spiked, and every footfall became a struggle against his exhaustion. In silence, he watched the men on first shift and empathized with the tedious, dangerous routine of the hot work. As the men bent and shoveled, Jack’s muscles echoed the tension and misery so familiar to the job. He strained when they strained, and their shouts quickened his pulse.

  He pushed through the doors and out into the light and cool air. In a corner of the yards that surrounded Cambria, with clear view of Cambria’s own railroad depot, Jack rolled up his long sleeves and settled into deep thought about the entire process of converting iron ore into steel. He ran his hand over the miniature egg-shaped Bessemer converter he had shaped from scrap metal and studied his new theory, paying particular attention to the tuyeres through which air was blown to remove impurities from the molten iron. If blasting too much air removed too much carbon, then the resulting product was negatively affected. His new theory worked to solve this problem. With a surge of excitement, he bent his head over his plans.

  The work was an elixir. He fell into the rhythm of trial and error, always reviewing the process and tweaking the amount of air blown into the molten iron. Only when he took a break did he allow himself to once again scrape up the discomfort over Alaina’s question about his parents—her demand to share what troubled him about his past.

  His father.

  Jack stared at his hands and realized, ironically, that as much as he detested what his father became as he got older, he had, to a great degree, followed in his father’s footsteps. Even as a five-year-old, he recalled being intrigued by his father’s passion for creating solutions to problems around their small farm.

  But as Jack had gotten older, things had gone wrong. His father kept inventing new and better ways of doing things, but drinking became his new obsession. It took Jack several years to realize that his father’s regular drinking companion seldom drank at all. Instead, the man listened to Jack’s father’s ideas and cashed in on them. Only when the same man stopped giving Jack’s father generous stipends did the situation at home become critical and the nightly rages against him and his mother worsened. In the end, he lost both his father and mother within six months of each other.

  His mother’s agony, the poverty his father had plunged them into by his poor choices, stirred Jack’s agony anew as a veil of tears blinded him to the papers in front of him. The pair of pliers he had been using fell from his hand and clinked against a piece of scrap metal. He clenched his fists and swiped at the wetness on his cheeks, struggling against the familiar and bitter hatred his father’s memory always stirred.

  Pastor’s sermon pounded in his head. A bitter Christ would have been useless in God’s plan, yet He could have chosen that route. But Jack realized that Christ’s decision to hate Judas would have destroyed His life, and the lives of everyone with life and breath.

  For him to choose to cling to his bitterness would destroy him just as certainly. He knew it as sure as he knew he was close to a major discovery in his plans.

  But how to forgive? He didn’t know.

  The sound of the whistle signaling the end of the shift and the beginning of another helped shake Jack back to the project at hand. His hand trembled as he pulled another sheet of paper from the pocket of his trousers and spread it out next to the others. He forced himself to focus on comparing his old notes with his new. After reviewing everything, he decided to tinker with the idea of heating the molten iron longer, lowering the impurities. Then. . .

  His b
lood pumped hard through his veins as a chill shock snapped through him. If he could lower the impurities by heating longer and reintroduce. . .

  Jack swallowed hard and made furious notes as the idea unfolded in his mind. Throughout his shift he reviewed the process over and over. By the time he arrived home that night, his excitement had faded into a bone-weary tiredness that made his muscles ache. He bypassed eating and did only as much as necessary to prepare for the next morning, when he would arrive earlier than necessary so he could work on this new angle.

  Satisfied, he stretched out on his cot and pulled the blanket up over his shoulders. As he lay there, his mind caught between sleep and wakefulness, Jack remembered Alaina. Her smile, her concern, her anger. . .his promise to see her.

  For a minute he hung in a semiconscious state, disgusted at how he could forget so easily. Again. But his weary mind and body pulled him down into a black oblivion he had no strength to fight.

  Alaina will understand.

  Eleven

  May 21, 1889

  “Don’t pour!” Jack’s scream rent the air seconds before the molten steel touched the water in the steel-mold.

  An explosion rocked the men not already undercover back on their heels.

  Jack skidded into a low crouch and shielded his face. A blast of strong, hot air choked him and scorched his skin. Chunks of metal shot around the room, and Jack heard the muffled groan of pain next to him that told him Big Frank had been hit.

  When the air settled, the factory whistle screamed the news of another accident to all within listening distance. Shouts lifted above the sounds of machinery as other men went to the rescue of those downed by the explosion.

  Jack jumped up and hustled over to where Frank lay within a few feet of the mold. Still. Silent.

  “God, no. God, please, no.” He flipped Big Frank over. His heart plummeted at the sight of blood. Frank’s shirt smoked where the heat had singed the material. “Frank? Frank!” He patted his friend’s cheek, strangled with dread when Frank remained unresponsive. He lifted his head. “Help! Over here.”

  Someone appeared at his side, and together they lifted the big man and carried him away from the heat of the open hearth furnaces.

  ❧

  Hospital beds lined both walls of the long room. Frank lay, pale and bandaged, eyes closed, halfway down the long room.

  Jack recognized other workers and waved a greeting to those who were awake.

  One of the men, Sweeney, as everyone called him, returned Jack’s greeting with a grim, “How many this time?”

  “Three.” Jack stopped and ran a cautious eye over the man’s bandaged arm and chest. “Three died. Five injured.”

  Sweeney rubbed at the bandage on his arm, then grimaced. “Hurt’s like fire, but it’s a graze.”

  “You were blessed not to have been killed.”

  The man leaned back against his pillow and gave a nod.

  Jack headed down the row toward Frank and stopped at the foot of his friend’s bed. He bowed his head, grateful Frank’s life had been spared.

  He lifted his face to find Frank’s glazed stare upon him. “Not dead, am I? Was thinkin’ God had allowed some pretty ugly angels to mess up heaven.”

  Jack’s breath released in a relieved gust. He laughed and moved to the side of the bed. “Hey there. How’re you feeling?”

  “Like a piece of hot slag got me in the gut.”

  “And the face.” Jack felt the burn of guilt. “If I hadn’t left, it would have spared you from doing the pouring and getting hit.”

  Frank blinked slowly. “God orders the day, son. Haven’t you figured that out yet? No amount of guilt is going to change the way things happen.”

  It took a minute for Jack to gain his voice. He gripped Frank’s hand. “What about Missy and Sam?”

  Frank seemed to drift off to a faraway place for a moment. Then his eyes fixed on the ceiling. “I don’t know. Mrs. Sanford can’t keep them. Too old.”

  “I’ll do it. I’ll take care of them for you, Frank. Alaina is home from the lake. She can watch them during the day and I’ll help her in the evenings.”

  “You’ve got work to do, boy. Riches to make. An invention to invent.”

  Jack could hear the hopeful note behind Frank’s playful words. “Then it’s settled. Alaina won’t mind, I know it. She loves Missy and Sam.”

  “You’ve a good heart, Jack.”

  “You concentrate on getting better.”

  ❧

  After Sunday, then forgetting about Alaina the night before, Jack felt every bit the fool for arriving on her doorstep with two children in tow.

  She opened the door immediately, and his anxiousness lifted at her look of pleased surprise.

  “Why, Missy and Sam, what are you doing here?”

  Missy promptly broke into tears, and Sam shushed her.

  Alaina met Jack’s gaze with a question.

  He leaned forward and whispered in her ear.

  She gasped in dismay, then stooped to take first Missy’s hand and then Sam’s and led them inside.

  Jack swept the room for any sign of Alaina’s mother.

  “She’s not here. She’s downstairs finishing up an order due tomorrow.” Alaina pulled young Missy onto her lap and wiped her tears. She cuddled the six-year-old close and smoothed her ruffled hair.

  Jack placed his hand on Missy’s head. “How about I go downstairs and get some candy?”

  Alaina gave him a searching look.

  He winked and crouched to whisper into Missy’s ear. “I need someone to help me pick. Want to come?”

  Missy’s solemn, gray gaze stirred something in his heart. “Will my daddy die?”

  Jack rasped a hand down his unshaven cheek. Other than his initial fear that Frank had been outright killed, he hadn’t considered his friend might die from his injuries. Frank was older than most of the men, at thirty-three years, but his strength would be in his favor. But to offer the child hope and have things take a turn for the worse. . .

  Jack picked up Missy’s small hand and got eye level with her. “I can’t answer that question. No one can. But we can pray and trust and ask God to help us as we wait. Would you like to do that with me?”

  “And Sam and Miss Alaina?”

  “Sure.”

  Missy scrambled off Alaina’s lap and dropped to her knees. Sam joined her. Jack and Alaina shared an amused look over the small heads. Missy tucked her hands together and looked at the ceiling. Jack got the feeling the child saw far beyond the stained plaster. Maybe even into the heart of God.

  “Do you want to pray, Missy?”

  She shook her head and pointed to him.

  The words came easily to Jack. When he said, “Amen,” he took the little girl into his arms, where her confidence failed her and she sobbed.

  Sam stood nearby, tears trailing a silver streak down his pudgy face. Alaina settled a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

  “Will Mrs. Sanford watch us until Daddy is better?” Missy’s words muffled against his shirt.

  Jack swallowed hard. “I was hoping Miss Alaina might spend some time with you while your father recovers.” His eyes pleaded with Alaina. “Your father said Mrs. Sanford was too old to watch you both full time.”

  He hesitated under Alaina’s steady gaze, ashamed to be asking her for a favor when so much still stood between them. I’m sorry, he mouthed to her.

  She didn’t smile, but her eyes traced along Missy’s back then over Sam’s head and down to his shoes. Her expression softened. “We can make a place for you two on the floor in my room.”

  Sam hugged her legs, and Missy smiled shyly up at her.

  Jack got to his feet. “Why don’t the two of you head down to the store and check out that candy display.”

  “You want to kiss her?” Missy wanted to know. Her nose wrinkled as if the thought disgusted her.

  Jack laughed. “You think that’s so bad?”

  “Daddy kissed Mommy a whole lot,” she co
ntinued. “He loved her.” With that, she turned and headed down the steps.

  “Hold on to the railing,” Alaina called after them.

  He caught her gaze. “Maybe a better question is, would Miss Alaina even allow me to kiss her?”

  Twelve

  The weight of Jack’s question caused her to hesitate. Always she was so quick to forgive him for breaking his word to her. What had it earned her? “I don’t know, Jack.” She couldn’t bear to return his stare or to see the hurt in his eyes and stared down after Missy and Sam instead. “We’d better go after the children.”

  “Alaina, wait.” His hand encased her wrist, but she refused to turn. He rested his hands lightly on her shoulders, his words placating. “I got another idea for the converter and began work on it. I lost track of the time. I’m sorry.”

  She felt the warmth of his breath against her cheek.

  “I thought you would understand.”

  Her throat grew thick, and she stared at him as tears collected in her eyes. “Why don’t you try to understand how I feel for a change? How it feels to be forgotten by the man who says he loves you and wants to marry you. Not once, Jack. Not twice—” The tears rolled, and her voice caught. “Try ten times. Maybe twenty. You always say it’s for us, for me. But I don’t care about money, don’t you see? It’s you, Jack. Money is your issue, not mine. I’m happy being poor. People are more important than things. And then, when I want to help you, to reach out to the man I love and share what is obviously troubling him, I’m turned away.”

  His hands slid down her arms then released her.

  Unable to stand it any longer, she hurried down the steps, drying her eyes as she went, not wanting her mother to have further reason to be upset with Jack. As she stepped through the back door of the store, her mother glanced up.

  Charlotte set her sewing aside and rubbed her eyes. “I saw the children come in from the back door. Is Big Frank visiting?”

  “You should stop for the night, Mother. It’s not good for your eyes to work such long hours.”