A Love So True

by Melissa Jagears

  He smiled as if she’d invited him to sit in the pew with her. “I’ll make sure to see you.”

  “Then until then.”

  David grabbed her gloved hand and gave her a gentle squeeze. “I’m happy to take some of the burden until you find your determination again.” And with that he walked off, holding up the list as he whistled.

  She held the hand he’d squeezed in her other and closed her eyes, the vestiges of the warmth of his hand slowly fading.

  Once the feel of his grip dissipated, she opened her eyes and found him gone.

  Yes, she needed to know exactly where she stood, since her heart was in danger of going somewhere it shouldn’t. No more believing the worst, no more living with uncertainty—she had to know if the tethers she’d kept around her heart were indeed as necessary as she thought them to be.

  She strode as quickly as she could toward Lowe’s Mining & Gas Company. Hopefully she was remembering Nicholas’s schedule correctly, because if he was at his lumber mill today, she didn’t have time to get that far across town without causing her parents any more hardship than she already was.

  Since window shopping in this section of town wasn’t appealing—plumbing supplies and hardware held no temptation—she sped along the sidewalks. When she got to the Mining & Gas Company’s door, she hesitated.

  Could she really ask for the amount of money this request might take? But how else was she going to get any answers? She would never be able to afford to get them herself. Nine years had passed, and she hadn’t accrued a sizable savings in any sense of the word.

  She forced herself to turn the handle. Putting one foot in front of the other, she made her way toward Nicholas’s secretary, hoping the twitch in her cheek was not as visible as it felt. “Is Mr. Lowe in?”

  Mr. Black, a tall, skinny man slightly older than she, with a very large nose and plenty of dark hair, stood up and came around his desk. “He is. Was he expecting you?”

  “No, but I was hoping he might have a few minutes for me to ask him a question.” If he didn’t, she wasn’t sure she could muster the courage to return.

  Mr. Black ran his finger down a list of things in a notebook on his desk. “He has a meeting in twenty minutes, so he’ll likely need to leave in ten.”

  “That will do—if he can spare the time, of course.”

  “Let me check.” The secretary crossed the room, knocked on a door with a frosted glass pane in it, then peeked his head inside. “Would you have a few minutes to see Miss Wisely?”

  “Miss Wisely’s here to see me?” Nicholas’s muffled voice sounded worried.

  “Yes.”

  “Send her in.”

  The little room was less ornamental than she’d expect of a wealthy man, but Nicholas’s hands gripping the back of his chair as if he were afraid it might run away kept her gaze from wandering about.

  “Is my wife all right?”

  Oh, since she’d never come to see him at his offices, he likely thought an emergency would be the only reason she’d show up unannounced. “I didn’t mean to alarm you. As far as I know, Lydia’s as tired and cranky as she was yesterday.” She grinned, but she’d evidently scared Nicholas bad enough that he couldn’t return the smile.

  After his body relaxed, a pucker marred his brow. “Then to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? I doubt you’re interested in natural gas.” He pointed her to a simple chair placed in front of his desk, but she couldn’t sit.

  She gripped the back of the chair, mirroring his tense posture of only a moment ago. “I need a monetary favor.”

  He frowned. “Is what I’m paying you inadequate?”

  “No, it’s perfectly adequate for someone in my position, but what I need isn’t a common need. I’ve tried to save for it, but after a while I came to accept I would never be able to save enough. But lately . . . I’ve realized I have to get answers or drive myself crazy.”

  “Ask then, though I reserve the right to say no.”

  “Of course.” She wrung her hands. Though most people thought Nicholas to be a miser, in truth, he was a very generous man—if he believed in the cause. Would he be willing to help? Oh, it was too much to ask. She paced to the window despite the shades being pulled. She wouldn’t have needed any favors if she hadn’t been so selfish and foolish once.

  “You’re worrying me. Is something wrong?” He came around the desk and gripped her arm, looking down into her eyes, mere inches below his. “You’re my wife’s best friend. If you’re in trouble, I’ll help you.”

  She had to start somewhere, didn’t she? May as well start with the circumstances that would likely keep her in his debt if he chose to help. “Have my parents told you they intend to retire?”

  He shook his head.

  For some reason, knowing she wasn’t the only one who didn’t know was a bit heartening. “They didn’t tell me either. But when they leave, I likely will have to leave the orphanage behind as well, along with my only source of income. So I’m afraid, if you grant me this request, I might never be able to pay you back.”

  “I rarely give out loans, Evelyn, especially to friends. Just tell me what you want.”

  Though she wanted to bolt for the door, she had to ask. But maybe she shouldn’t tell him everything. “I need to hire a detective to find someone. If he’s alive and you find him, I could probably pay you back.”

  “I told you not to worry about that; however, you should know people who skip town because of debt aren’t generally known for having money.”

  “That’s not why I need to find him, but that’s all I’d like to say about that.” She squirmed under Nicholas’s gaze. “I’ll understand if you refuse.”

  He stood rubbing his jaw, looking at her as if he could mine information out of her with a piercing stare. He shook his head a little, then turned to go back around his desk. “Give me what information you can, and I’ll get someone on it.”

  She wobbled on shaky legs around the chair and sat down. “His name is James Bowden. Last I knew, he was heading toward California.”

  19

  “Here’s your mail, sir.”

  Mr. Pennysworth put a pile of envelopes on David’s desk.

  He opened his mouth to thank his newly promoted head secretary, but his vocal cords seized when he caught sight of the name on top. His fingers involuntarily curled, as if they could refuse to pick up his father’s letter. He forced himself to nod at Mr. Pennysworth to dismiss him.

  He’d known it would come, but since he’d not gotten a telegram or a personal visit from Father since he’d sent his letter, he’d begun to hope Father was going to let him do as he pleased.

  Not that he’d ever done so before—but Father had to stop trying to manage every little thing in his son’s life at some point, right?

  Blowing out an exaggerated breath, David snatched up the letter and, using his index finger as a letter opener, tore the flap open in huge chunks.

  He braced himself for words unlikely to brighten his day.

  David,

  Not even a “dear” before his name. Seems this wasn’t going to be fun.

  I don’t know how I could have possibly been more clear. You were to sell the place, nothing more. Do you really think we need to keep a business hours away from Kansas City? We don’t have time for that, and it’s obviously not something worth keeping. Get it ready to sell within the month and then get back here. Perhaps you’re staying away because of our fight over Marianne, but, son, it’s the best for you both. It’s the best for all of us. I know you two have this sentimental idea of love, but it only brings heartache. It’s not like you’ve ever had interest in anyone else, so it’s time to get your head out of those clouds and become the level-headed partner I need.

  Don’t make me come down there and do things myself.

  He didn’t even sign it.

  David dropped the letter onto his desk, wishing the autumn afternoon were cold enough for a blazing fire to pitch it into. He picked it back up, ri
pped it into shreds, and tossed it in the wastebasket.

  A month was too little time to get this factory to generate a nice profit before selling.

  And Father was wrong about him having no interest in anyone else, but a month was certainly too little time to get anywhere with Evelyn. Mr. Hargrove had said she’d take time to warm up, and she had some, but it was definitely slow going.

  Though he might not know her as well as he knew Marianne, he’d seen her servant’s heart, her dedication to others, her willingness to work hard without the promise of reward—all admirable qualities he’d want in a wife.

  Marianne had admirable qualities too, but there just wasn’t this tug . . .

  Did Evelyn feel anything toward him—in a way she didn’t feel for anyone else?

  And what was Father going to do if he didn’t return within the month anyway? Disown him? No, Father might like to trample on him, but he had too much pride in his empire, and firing his only son would make him look ineffective in the eyes of those he wanted to impress.

  Father could make him miserable, though—David knew that full well.

  But knowing he was not living up to expectations was bearable with miles between them and a fascinating woman drifting in and out of his thoughts.

  Crash!

  A few men’s shouts and muffled hollers coming from inside the factory made David dash through the outer office and onto the balcony. A quick look revealed a flurry of activity near a glittering sea of glass in the far north corner. After racing down the stairs, he forged his way through the onlookers, stopping at the edge of the pile of broken shards and lumber.

  A few men were already attacking the pile with brooms. He quickly glanced around to make sure neither Robert nor Max was anywhere in the mess. “Is anyone hurt?”

  No one seemed to hear him. When he caught a glimpse of one of his five foremen, he picked his way over to him. “Mr. Kerry, what happened?”

  The balding man with the pointed eyebrows wiped his forehead with a wadded bandana as he shook his head. “They tried to stack them too high. The product hasn’t been going out as quickly as usual, and with that huge order from Nettleson, we had quite the backup. They were just trying to make room.”

  “No one’s hurt?”

  He pointed to a man headed toward the washroom. “Uriah had several jars fall on his head, but the pallet missed him. He said he’s all right.”

  Seeing that most of the men were heading back to their stations and enough were busy with brooms and dustpans, David made his way toward the man Mr. Kerry had indicated.

  The man was young, perhaps his age, holding a hand to his head as he walked.

  David halted him with a squeeze on the shoulder.

  The man gave him an annoyed look as he turned, but quickly schooled his expression, though he winced. “Sir?”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Nothing more than a knock to the noggin. Got a goose egg starting.” He rubbed his fingers at the back of his head, though David couldn’t see anything through his curly mop. “Going to shake out my hair and clothing to make sure there aren’t slivers of glass in them.”

  “You weren’t cut?”

  “I don’t think so. And I need to apologize. I was the one who insisted we stack them higher. If the others tell you that, it’s true. But if we don’t start shipping product faster, I don’t know where you want us to put everything.”

  “Thanks for admitting to your part in the accident, but you’re right, things have gotten crowded.” He had most of the product sold and was working with shipping to get them out, but they’d run across problems with the deliverymen not being able to keep up. “I’ll see what I can do, but next time, if there’s a question about safety, ask your foreman. I don’t want anyone hurt, even if I have to cut back production.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “When you’re done shaking out your clothing, I want you to go to the doctor and have your head checked. Then go home. It’s only an hour until quitting time.”

  “It’s not that bad, sir.”

  “It won’t affect your wages. Tell your supervisor you’re not off the clock.”

  Uriah’s jaw slid back and forth in consternation.

  Why else would the man be against getting off early? “And tell the doctor to bill me. That way I’ll know you went.”

  The man let his head drop forward in acquiescence. “All right, sir.”

  He watched Uriah walk off, then David turned to see the workers had already carted off most of the aftermath. If it wasn’t for three men sweeping in one spot, no one would have known something had gone wrong.

  A. K. Glass’s foremen were certainly doing a fine job. This place ran like clockwork. At least his decision to fire Mr. Burns had been sound. There was no reason the factory should’ve been losing money. When the factory produced a decent profit, he’d tell his secretary to give them a raise.

  He and his father often disagreed on how best to do things, but Father was wrong about A. K. Glass’s potential.

  David leaned over to pick up a shard of glass that had skidded far from the mess and tossed it in the trash barrel. Though this factory wasn’t worthless, it wasn’t as if he wanted to keep it either. He just wanted the best price. Manufacturing glass jars was not something he was drawn to . . . though none of their business ventures back home really sparked his fancy either. However, he did enjoy overseeing their holdings, figuring out how to increase profit, and smoothing out conflict—something that affected the bottom line more than Father realized and that his son was better equipped for, though Father seemed incapable of admitting it.

  Plus, back home he sometimes got to take over their hotel’s kitchen whenever a cook was sick or when one quit and they looked for a new hire. A rare occurrence, but satisfying nonetheless. His father rolled his eyes when his son wasted his time with something so trifling, but he didn’t raise a big stink, since he knew it was only temporary.

  If things were different with Evelyn, could he be happy with a glass factory in Teaville? If he couldn’t be, then perhaps he needed to stop pursuing her, for he couldn’t imagine her agreeing to move with him to Kansas City.

  But those questions could be considered later—he had men to oversee.

  As David slowly climbed the balcony stairs overlooking the huge manufacturing floor, he mentally calculated the output schedule, shipping delays, and storage spaces already filled. There certainly was a problem. They either needed more room or a slowed production schedule. He needed the profit from offering more diversified products and speedier delivery, so where could he get more storage for cheap?

  He turned into the office, and Mr. Pennysworth stood up behind his desk. “Was anyone hurt?”

  “Thankfully no, and the accident has been dealt with.” At his secretary’s nod, David disappeared into his office and ran his hands through his hair. The shreds of his father’s letter taunted him as he second-guessed himself.

  Though he might not want to do what Father wanted, he didn’t want to fail either. One failure was enough at the moment, and he had already failed to get any businessmen to support Evelyn’s women’s home, though he’d convinced a few to pray about it.

  Since Father had only sent a letter instead of barging through his office door uninvited, would it be too much to hope he didn’t want to broadcast their fallout to those in Kansas City and actually planned to leave him alone?

  20

  Evelyn put a finger to her lips as Nicholas joined them in the Lowes’ parlor, in case he couldn’t see that his daughter had fallen asleep.

  Nicholas raised his eyebrows at being shushed, but a smile quickly appeared when he noticed the dark curly head on Lydia’s shoulder.

  Lydia looked over her other shoulder and beckoned him closer with a tilt of her head. “We have a request.”

  He looked back at Evelyn as if silently inquiring if this had anything to do with the favor she’d asked of him the previous week, so she shook her head slightly.


  Rubbing his chin, he came forward. “And how much will it cost me?”

  Lydia rolled her eyes. “The beauty of this scheme is that it uses what people discard . . . so not much.”

  Evelyn scooted to the front of her seat. “We only need somewhere to store the discards.”

  Nicholas sat beside Lydia on the love seat.

  “Evelyn realized women leaving prostitution will need a different wardrobe.” Lydia tried to stifle a yawn but failed. “We were thinking of asking the moral-society ladies and the church to collect their out-of-fashion clothing for those women. We’d need a place to store the clothing and at least one sewing machine for alterations. There’s plenty of room in the mansion’s basement.”

  He shook his head. “You could store them at the mansion, but it wouldn’t be a good idea to have the women alter them there.”

  “You have an objection to them being inside?” Lydia looked confused. She had insisted Nicholas would champion the idea. “They’ll not have contact with the children. They’d go in through the servant’s entrance.”

  Evelyn squirmed a little. The Lowes treated her like family and had long since stopped acting formally in front of her, but she still didn’t want to witness an argument.

  “The staff I hired are excellent workers, and I don’t want to lose them. Though they have been informed of the children’s backgrounds, a few would be uncomfortable having prostitutes on the premises—even former ones.”

  Another reason they needed a women’s home.

  Would he eventually cave to the undeniable need for one, as Mr. Beauchamp assumed, even without town support? “Of course, once we have a women’s home, we would store and alter the clothing there, but until then, what if Lydia or I accompanied them?”

  “Neither of you have the time to sit with them while they alter dresses. I don’t want to drive away the staff. I had enough difficulty filling the orphanage positions as it was.”

  Evelyn wouldn’t argue that Nicholas had taken care in selecting the staff. Their work was impeccable, and the children were in no danger of being mistreated.